Deadly Betrayal
by Lamae
Summary: What do the guys do when they meet a chick that's better than them at everything and likes rubbing it in? Very, very strong themes. story better than summary
1. Chapter 1

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Hey all! --Stares at the screen-- So here's the first chapter of my story... It's kind of bland at the moment, I know. Please don't let that put you off! --Makes the puppy-eye look-- I know you've heard this before but this is my first fanfic (as in, completely and utterly first time - no joke) so pretty please be nice...**

* * *

**Initium**

**Chapter 1**

Dust covered the rotting wooden floors of the long-deserted home. Bare tree branches scratched against the broken remains of glass windows in the upstairs bedroom. There was barely a sound throughout the abandoned house, except for the slight shrill of a cold wind as it blew through the empty rooms.  
The only other sound was a soft creak of footsteps from the bedroom closest to the winding staircase.  
A girl in her mid-twenties with long, dirty, tangled hair crept her way out of an empty bedroom and into another. Her only source of light was a dim beam from the torch she held tightly in her left hand. A gun containing silver bullets was clutched firmly in her right. Her chewed nails were the only indication that she was nervous about the task she had assigned herself. She had spent countless hours mapping, researching, installing motion sensors, and salting the house. One cut corner or slip-up and she would be in serious danger. Five girls were in the morgue, stone-dead, because of this bad-ass. Banshees were dangerous and unforgiving creatures, but an insane one was deadly.  
There was a small cut on her wrist where she had inserted the O'Grady blood earlier. The tiny mark only proved that she had spent many hours researching the attack, alas leading to the fact that banshees only ever showed themselves to descendants of the five major bloodlines.

_If I can't be of that bloodline, then I'll trick it into believing I am. _  
She moved with an air of experience, grace and alertness. Every step demanded caution.  
She froze as something snapped downstairs. After a moment of silence, she darted silently to the staircase and hid herself behind a decrepit section of wall.  
She risked a glance down the stairs.  
_The banshee can't be downstairs - so what's down there?  
_Whatever caused the noise was either hiding, or waiting.  
Loud scratching sounds of wood scraping wood in the kitchen made her retreat her glance. She banged her head against the wall in disgust and frustration as she realized what was happening.  
_Hell of a time for burglars,_ she thought angrily.  
Impatience stirred in her mind as she heard mens' voices from the kitchen. For a second, she pondered whether or not she should shoot them - after all, they were breaking into an abandoned house, while giving away the brilliantly perfect and well-crafted plan of hers to trap the banshee.  
All that stopped her was the fact that any unnecessary noise - like a gunshot - would surely give away her position. Besides, she would rather let the men steal than have something more evil and deadly knowing where she was.  
Who ever had just broken in was now moving around and making an unbearable din.  
"You got anything?" A voice asked.  
There was a pause, then a gruff voice said, "Something's coming up on the EMF… It's stronger out here."  
Heavy footsteps were heard down the bottom of the stairs. Suddenly, a sharp set of beeps rang out.  
_Shit! The idiots have set off the motion sensors!  
_The realization struck fear into her heart.  
_They've just warned the spirit that it's not alone…  
_Something white swished past her ear. Three silver bullets shot through the air as the girl's reflexes reacted. The girl rolled out of the way as the banshee lunged at her. Its billowing white cape just missed her ear as it glided down the stairs. The two men scrambled up the stairs, oblivious to the spirit.  
Without hesitation, she leapt to her feet and ran after the banshee. Why it hadn't begun its death-inducing scream was an answer she already knew.  
_It's already picked a target - if one of these men is a descendant of the bloodlines then I'm screwed…  
_A set of bullets hit the wall behind her.  
_They have guns?!  
_She ducked instinctively before diving for the stairs.  
"Move it!" she shouted and pushed one of the men to the ground. He fell with a grunt.  
The other man turned around and cried, "Dean!"  
The girl jumped the rest of the steps while reloading her gun. She burst into the kitchen and raised her weapon, trying to ignore the swearing from the stairs.  
A single, dusty, cobwebbed table had been pushed astray from its original resting place under a window - newly broken by the intruders. The only other noticeable object was at the far-end of the large dark room - a heavy oak door leading to the basement.  
There was another flash of white in a cobwebbed corner near the basement door. The girl let off a number of bullets, none of which hit their target.  
"Drop the gun," a man yelled behind her.  
She didn't listen; instead she froze and held her gun steady while trying to pick up any signs of movement in the corners of the room.  
"I said drop the gun!"  
The man had a note of desperation in his voice.  
The girl turned and saw two men in their twenties. One was holding a gun pointing straight at her chest while a shorter man stood behind him, blood gushing from a small cut below his left temple.  
A light whistle was heard on the other side of the basement door and the hinges began to rattle. The girl and the taller man instantly trained their weapons on the door. The whistling stopped and everything became silent.

"Right," the short man growled at the other trembling man. "Dude, I thought you said that this place was--"  
Suddenly, the door burst open and a roaring gust of wind pulled the girl into the deep, dark basement.  
The heavy door slammed shut.

In a state of panic, the girl realized that she was trapped. She had hoped that the banshee would choose her all along but she hadn't planned on being in the cold, light-deprived basement. The faint beam of light from her torch flickered then disappeared, throwing her into complete darkness.  
_How the hell am I meant to shoot the damn thing if I can't see it?!  
_Pounding erupted on the other side of the door.  
She spun towards the sound, only to see the glowing, ghastly face of the banshee leering within inches of her nose.  
The mouth opened to reveal row upon row of tiny, sharp teeth. Saliva dripped from its gaping mouth onto the cold cement floor. The claw-like hands grabbed onto her shoulders, the sharp, broken nails digging into her flesh. Its wispy grey hair fanned out as the banshee let out a high-pitched scream.  
The girl cried out in pain, covering her ears with her hands. Blood began to pour from beneath her palms as the deafening screech continued. Her heart raced and her head felt like it was going to explode. Pain ripped at her insides as she choked at the lack of oxygen in the room. Black dots blurred her vision.  
The banshee's eyes boggled out of its skull as the scream reached a lethal pitch.  
In utter desperation, the girl pulled her hand away from her ear and fired a single bullet into the banshee's skull. The screaming ceased immediately but the girl continued firing. She swayed on the spot. The scream had left a loud, eerie ringing in her ears.  
The spirit faded into oblivion. The girl tried to make her way to the door, but her legs wouldn't move. She sank to her knees and dropped the gun. She placed her hands back over her ears in an attempt to stop the ringing.  
She tried desperately to cling to consciousness, but the black dots continued to swarm. Her head felt heavy. She tried to stand up but her eyes closed and she felt her head hit the floor.  
_I'm going to die…  
_As the world began to fade, she dimly heard the sound of a door slam open and footsteps rapidly approaching her side.

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**Whoot! I did it! --Shies away-- I know it's bad... It's taken me up to half a year to build the courage to post this story so pleeease don't kill me. I'll try and get the next chapter out as soon as possible! --grabs a pen and gets set to task--**


	2. Chapter 2

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Howdy! Okay, this chapter was meant to be up some time last week but my family sprung some family vacation on me the morning before I was going to post it. So far, the chapters have been relatively short so I'll try and** **lengthen them a bit. Oh yeh, THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS! You guys are awesome! LisLuv05, SilverSkyBlade, irishgirl9, DeanWinchesterLover (What an awesome name...), FireZombie, rebelling teenX5-494 - you guys rock!**

**Disclaimer: -- sigh -- Trust a man to come up with the two most gorgeous guys on the planet. Just stating that I don't own anything you recognise (even though I'd give anything to own Dean or Sam for that matter).**

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**Cruor**

**Chapter 2**

"You said that the house was empty, Dean!" Sam harshly whispered to his brother, careful not to disturb the form of the sleeping girl on the bed closest to Dean.  
"Dude, how was I supposed to know?" Dean retaliated sharply. "You said, 'Check if there's anything in the house' and at the time, nobody was there."  
Sam continued to pace anxiously from one side of the tiny hotel room to the other. Sam's hand rose to his mouth where he began to chew his fingernails - an old habit, which Jess had pointed out when she was alive.  
"Come on, Sammy," Dean coaxed, "have a beer and relax - or at least stop marching in circles. I'm getting dizzy just watching."  
"It's Sam!" his brother corrected instantly. "And, Dean, how can you sit here and be so calm about this?" He pointed accusingly to the comatose, curled-up girl. "She received the full scream of a banshee and she's alive. How is that even possible?!"  
Dean shrugged without care. "So she survived. Is that such a huge problem?"  
"It is a problem when we don't know who she is or why she was in that house or why she was even hunting the same thing we were!"  
Dean gulped the last of his beer while continuing to flick the safety catch on his gun.

_Click. Click. _Resting his feet upon the table, he gave a lazy yawn. Any other time, he would be disturbed -and maybe a little turned-on - by a girl sleeping in their hotel room. He didn't exactly shrug off the fact that she may be hurt. After all, the effects of a banshee scream were never minor.  
Sam swiveled around suddenly to gawk at Dean in horror as a thought hit him. "Dean, what if she's a demon or a vampire or a--"  
"Dude, chill," Dean sighed. "We'll just ask her when she wakes up."  
Sam ran a hand agitatedly through his long, messy hair.  
"Yeah, that's if she wakes up."

- - -

The claws sliced through Bec's flesh as the banshee's scream intensified to an unbearable pitch. "Get off of me!" Bec screamed as it leaned closer to her ear. She felt its slimy tongue flicker across her earlobe as it hissed, "Gonna die..."  
"I said--" Bec began to roar but stopped when the banshee's face began to melt away, exhibiting nothing but a glowing skull. As the flesh was removed, it began to re-attach itself to form a hideous array of blood, tissue and gore. The face continued to mold as Bec stared in morbid fascination. Within seconds, Bec was gazing at an almost identical image of herself. The only difference were the eyes - or lack of. The banshee had distorted the color to make them seem like bottomless pits of black.  
"_Chosen one_," It sneered maliciously.  
It was only when Bec began to scream in terror that she woke from her nightmare.

- - -

Jolting upright, Bec sucked in greedy gasps of air. Trembling, she ran a hand over her face to mop the beads of sweat from her damp brow. At first, she thought the banshee had left her blind but then realized that the room was abnormally dark. A loud snore erupted from across the room, causing Bec to leap from her position in defense at the unseen attacker - or snorer.  
_ Where the hell am I?_ She wondered.  
The room smelt of stale cigarettes and urine. From the lack of fresh air in the room, she knew that it had to be uncomfortably small. The snores continued on the other side of the room. From a curtained window, a very dim blue streetlight cast almost no illumination. Bec concentrated her gaze onto a slumped, snoring figure resting on a table. Something was clasped in the figure's - Bec acknowledged as a male's - hand. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she realized it was a gun.  
_ The burglars,_ she realized.  
With no clue of where she was or who she was with - she decided that having a weapon was a worthwhile idea. Reaching forward, she wrapped her fingers around the gun and gently tugged. The weapon moved an inch. Bec concentrated further upon the gun, neglecting the figure that was slowly waking. Reaching another hand to take the gun, Bec didn't realize the figure was sleepily staring at her.

Dean blinked twice to try and clasp his surroundings. His back hurt like hell and he couldn't see anything. Something tugged on his hand and he diverted his gaze to the gun. Someone - or something - was trying to steal it. A figure with long, black hair was trying to take it.  
He didn't have time to think as he aimed the gun and fired.

Bec cried out as the gun suddenly rose and targeted straight at her head. She darted away from the firing line just as a gunshot rang out across the room. Following her instincts, she ran into the shadows of the room to hide. The figure at the table stood, cursing and trying to shake the sleep from his sore muscles.  
"Dean, what are you doing?" a frantic, male voice sounded from the beds.  
Bec edged her way along the wall, trying to stay hidden. Her hand collided with something and before she could act, a dead potted plant crashed to the floor. The figure let out two shots. Bec bolted to the front door, trying to escape the mad gun wielder. Another shot rang out and before Bec could do anything, the small glass clock above the door shattered. Bec shrieked as a piercing pain stabbed through her hand. Pivoting on her foot, she dove for the only open door she could see, then slammed and locked it. She was trapped in the bathroom.

Dean couldn't see through the shadows, he just aimed and shot at whatever moved. Letting one more bullet fly, he heard something shatter and a squeal of pain before a door slam.  
"Dean, for God's sakes, stop firing!" Sam yelled.  
"There's a vampire or a spirit or a--" Dean started but Sam shook his head.  
"Dean, you just shot at the girl!"  
Dean turned, not fully understanding. He checked the girl's bed. It was empty.  
"You didn't get her, did you?" Sam said while making his way to the bathroom. He grabbed the doorknob to find that it was locked. "Damn it! She's locked herself in!"  
Running a hand through his hair, Dean couldn't believe what had happened. "Dean!" Sam called his brother over. "If she's hurt then there's no way to get to her without breaking down the door."  
"No," Dean said, "that'd scare her even more. We'll wait for her to come out--"  
"But you could have shot her!"  
Dean faltered. He could have shot her. In fact, he had heard her cry out in pain. If she had been shot then they were in more trouble than what they thought.  
"We'll just wait for her to come out," Dean decided.

- - -

Crimson blood trickled in thick, viscous streams down Bec's quivering arm to slowly drip onto the woolen bathmat. Choking on the agonizing pain jolting through her arm, Bec wrapped the only available towel around her hand. "_Sonovabitch_..." she slurred as she held her wounded hand up to the light for better vision. A sharp shard of glass had pierced straight through her palm. Bec closed her eyes and whispered encouraging words to herself to tear the shard from her bone. Grabbing a firm hold, she counted back from three to rip the burden from her body.  
_ Three... Two--_  
"Miss?" a voice from the other side of the door called.  
Bec gasped, started. Instead of pulling the shard from her hand, she cradled the wound to her chest for warmth.  
"Miss, are you hurt?" another voice asked.  
_ No, you dumb-asses..._ Bec thought, _I'm just having a really bad period._  
Bec instantly scolded herself for thinking so irrationally at such an awful moment. She swore as the ground began to blur in front of her. The banshee scream had left her disorientated, dizzy and tired. To add on top of it, she was losing blood - and fast.  
"We can help you," a voice coaxed her from outside. "We're brothers and we've got a first-aid kit..."  
Bec squeezed her eyes shut.  
_ What other choice do I have?_

_- - -_

"Do you think it's working?" Sam asked frantically.  
"If you shut up then maybe I could hear," Dean hissed at him.  
Both boys leapt back as the door was unlocked and swung open. A girl, covered in blood, stumbled out of the bathroom. Dean reached forward and grabbed her shoulders softly to obstruct her from falling. "Miss, where are you injured?" Dean asked. He reached out for her hand but she winced and pulled away.  
"It's her hand - something's cut it." Sam pointed out. Dean nodded and led the trembling girl to the bed, stretching out her hand so he could observe the wound.  
"Jesus, it's gone straight through," Dean swore.  
"I'll get the kit," Sam said before running to the Impala. Dean watched fearfully as the girl began to sway. He couldn't see her face from under her knotted, dirty clumps of hair. Her skin was covered in grime, making it almost impossible to guess what skin color she had. Dean scolded himself angrily when he couldn't even guess her age. She could be anything from eighteen to forty. But one thing was for sure - she definitely needed a bath.  
"You realize that when I take this out, it's going to hurt, right?" Dean said, his eyes searching for any signs that she could be all right.  
"I'm no stranger to pain..." the girl hoarsely whispered in reply.  
Dean blinked, surprised by her answer. Trying to distract her from the wound, Dean introduced himself. "I'm Dean Winchester. What's your name?"  
The girl gave a short shudder from blood-loss before whispering, "Bec. Beclyn Jones."  
"That's a really pretty name, Beclyn," Dean commented as Sam returned with the first-aid kit. Sam rummaged through the wooden box before passing his brother some ointment and a bandage.  
"Sam," Dean whispered loud enough for only the twenty-two year old to hear, "you're gonna have to hold her down for this. And I'm warning you now, it's gonna get nasty."  
Sam nodded, comprehending the instructions. Sam moved to kneel in front of Bec, reaching out to grab her arms to keep her from lashing out when Dean moved into position. Dean gave a brief nod to Sam of warning to get ready. "Okay, Bec, on the count of three, I'm going to pull this thing out..."  
Bec tensed as Dean began the countdown.  
"Three. Two. One!"  
Bec thrashed and screamed in pain as Dean ripped the shard from her palm. Scarlet blood splattered the walls as she kicked and threw back her head to shriek in agony. Dean grasped her legs to keep her from injuring herself while Sam held her arms tightly. After a few minutes of Bec wincing and muttering blasphemies, she began to shudder uncontrollably due to the lost blood. Dean wrapped the bandage tenderly around her hand as she trembled against Sam's shoulder.  
"Do you think she'll be okay?" Sam mouthed to Dean. Dean nodded his reply before leaning forward so that he could ask Bec a few questions.  
"Bec," Dean started, "why were you in that abandoned house?"  
Bec opened her eyes to look at Dean groggily. "It doesn't matter now. I killed it," she replied with a cough.  
"Killed the banshee, you mean?" Sam clarified.  
Bec tensed and tried to push herself off of Sam's shoulder. "Let me go," she ordered when Sam tried to grab her. "I need to get to Manhattan..."  
"What's in Manhattan?" Dean signaled for Sam to release Bec.  
Bec tried to lift herself off the bed but it was Dean who grabbed her first.  
"I said, 'Let me go'!" she shrieked as she tried to hit him.  
"I'm afraid we can't do that," Sam told her while standing, "not until we know that you're completely fine. You're obviously a little confused after the banshee incident and we'll have to take you to a hospital to have your hand checked out--"  
Sam cried out as Bec swiveled around and grasped his shirt in a painfully tight grip. "No hospitals," she clenched through her teeth.  
"Okay!" Dean cried out as he leapt forward to pry her away from his startled younger brother. "No hospitals - got it. But you'll still have to stay with us until you get better."  
"Why should I stay with you?" Bec snapped drowsily. "I don't even know you!"  
"I'm Dean, remember? And this is my brother, Sam. We're the Winchester brothers and we're taking you to Manhattan."  
Sam threw a quizzical glance at Dean but his brother ignored it.  
Dean pointed to Sam and ordered, "Sam, get the duffel bags, we're packing up tonight - that way, we'll be in Manhattan by morning."  
When Bec didn't answer, Dean nudged her slightly only to reveal that she had already passed out.

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**I have almost completed chapter 3 so keep a look-out please! Oh yeh, R+R appreciated -- blushes --**


	3. Chapter 3

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Wahhhh! It's taken me so long to get this chapter up. I blame my****email because I doubt it's working. I couldn't find a beta for this chapter so if it's awful, please don't kill me... -- cries -- Oh yeh, have you noticed that this chapter is longer? -- beams -- Took me a while, but I did it! I hope you enjoy it! Oh yeh, thank you for all the reviews! I've noticed that everyone that reviews has such awesome names. FireZombie, 13supernatural13 - I'll pick on you guys this week because I love your names. Ha, my name is so weird. It's one of my character's names and no one knows how to say it... -- Lamae and I grin --**

**Warning: Language, violence (but nothing you wouldn't see on the news)**

**Disclaimer: -- sits on chair, rocking back forth -- I would ask for a hug from Dean or Sam but Erik Kripke owns them... He's the one that gets all the hugs! -- sobs miserably -- Wait! I own Beclyn! -- looks at Beclyn expectantly for a hug but shrivels away when receives glower instead -- Okay... No hugs for me... -- goes back to sobbing miserably --**

* * *

**Iratus**

**Chapter 3**

The moment she stepped into the room, her first impression was that she had walked into a men's room. The stench of musty cigarette smoke and alcohol was almost unbearable. This, combined with a pounding headache – courtesy of the banshee – made her gasp. Dean heard the sound and misinterpreted it for disgust at the room's condition.

"This is all we can afford for tonight so don't complain." He opened a door to a bedroom and dumped the bags upon the bed, trying not to feel ashamed at only being able to afford such cheap accommodation.

Bec let her eyes drift around the dirty room. It contained a small, green-topped table, its surface scarred with burn marks, accompanied by three chairs that seemed on the verge of collapsing. Against a wall, a rusting mini fridge hummed noisily. A doorway leading to a tiny bathroom sat near the only bedroom. Sam placed Bec's duffel bag on the table, ignoring the dust that swirled away from the disturbance. Hearing a clink from within the bag, he glanced quizzically at Bec, but she was too busy staring longingly at the bathroom, desperate for a hot shower after so many nights of going without. A clattering noise startled her out of her daze, and she spun around to see a scowling Dean checking out the mini fridge.

"_Damn_," Dean muttered. "No food, no beer..."

An eerie yellow glow diverted Bec's attention. Sam stood in the bathroom, splashing cool water over his fatigued face.

"It seems that we have hot water," Sam said enthusiastically. "Who wants to be the first to steal the bathroom?"

"She does," Dean said sharply before Bec could say anything. She glared at the older hunter. Although he was right, his presumptuousness irritated Bec. She resurfaced from her thoughts to find Sam already at the table, holding out her duffel bag for her to take, but Dean stopped him.

"_No_. She can get what she needs and leave the rest here." Dean said firmly.

Bec knew it was a thinly veiled excuse for him to see what was in her bag. Any other time - especially when she didn't feel like she had a rampaging four-year-old inside her head - she would have argued, bitched and maybe even _killed _to get her way. But right now, she was too tired to object. Bec grabbed her bag from Sam and dumped the contents onto the floor. The astonished brothers gaped at the supernatural weapons as they fell: a gun with silver bullets, two old silver knives, a newer switch-blade, a revolver, three firecrackers, a bag of salt, two torches - one of which was broken - a bottle of holy water, two mystic-looking medallions, an energy bar, a pair of frayed jeans, a black shirt, a lacy blue bra, cotton underwear, a pair of white socks, and a sanitary napkin. She grabbed the jeans, the shirt and the pair of underwear. She reached for the new switch-blade but Dean grabbed her wrist.

"No weapons," he ordered. She twisted free of his grasp angrily and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door. She bolted the door shut, silently praising the inventor of locks, and began to take off the grimy clothes she had worn for more than two weeks. Through a small, heavily-barred window, the loud blare of street traffic entered the room. Bec closed her eyes to attain a better grasp of her surroundings. Cars honked impatiently; ambulances blasted their sirens; drunken fools laughed off the excessive amounts of alcohol they had knocked back the night before. This was Manhattan, New York. Opening her eyes slowly, Bec wondered how many more girls had been killed since her last visit three years ago.

- - -

"Six girls. No patterns in who they were, what they did, family, et cetera. All the police know is that they were found with their stomachs ripped open," Sam said, throwing an aged newspaper onto the table. Dean picked it up and flicked through the pages, glancing at the contents.

"The police passed it off as a raccoon or a rabid dog - but I mean, seriously, what would do that?" Sam continued, beginning his ritual pacing.

"I dunno, Sam," Dean said, distracted by a black and white picture of a young girl in her early twenties. Next to the picture, the headline '_Parents Want Answers From Animal Patrol'_ was clearly printed. Dean skimmed the article, getting the general idea that more people were becoming worried about the 'mad animal' attacks.

"We're hunting little mutant bunnies now?" Dean queried sarcastically.

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the article. "Not bunnies, Dean. We're looking at something bigger than a coyote. To kidnap and torture girls like that... It's just not natural..."

"Since when is anything we do natural, Sam?" Dean grinned, knowing that it would annoy his brother.

"Dude," Sam said, stopping and raising an eyebrow, "do you have any idea how wrong that sounds?"

Sam opened his laptop and scrolled down the list of sites he had already searched. So far all the girls were different. Different was an understatement. He tried basic connections of heritage, physical features, work, but nothing matched. It was like the girls were from different worlds.

"This isn't making sense!" Sam said exasperatedly. "I know this thing is paranormal, it just doesn't follow the rules. I mean, they're meant to have guidelines, patterns... They're meant to be careful but this just makes them seem as if they don't exist."

"Who's _'they'_?" Dean inquired while glancing up from the newspaper.

"I don't know," Sam said while checking over the information again. "_'They' _is whoever is causing this havoc."

Suddenly, the boys heard a door unlock. They turned to see the bathroom door swing open, a freshly-clean Bec standing in the doorway. Dean's jaw almost hit the ground. The messed-up girl he had seen before had completely transformed. Bec was tallish, with long, straight, almost-black hair that matched her pale complexion perfectly, and the darkest, most intriguing blue eyes he had ever seen. He guessed that she was in her early to mid twenties. He couldn't help but let his gaze wander to her well-placed curves. It made her seem like she had just walked off the page of _Victoria's Secret_ or some other male-prone magazine. Even Sam had to try and slow his pounding heart as she sauntered into the room. Flashing his most charming smile, Dean gazed into her eyes, hoping the magic in corny romance movies was real, and that she would instantly fall in deep lust for him.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Bec snapped.

_Perhaps not._

"Uhh..." Dean felt like an idiot. He couldn't help but wonder where all his charm had escaped to.

Luckily, Sam saved him. "Beclyn, you should get some sleep--"

"I've been sleeping enough to last me years," Bec retorted. "Though I would ask you to shut up for a few hours. I have work to do."

"Whoa," Dean smirked. "Ever heard of _please_?"

"Ever heard of manslaughter?" Bec retaliated nastily.

Sam blinked, completely taken aback. The girl had definitely transformed from the helpless maiden in distress to a man's ultimate nightmare. Turning away, he pulled a newspaper clipping from the pile on the table and offered it to Bec. "We're working on this gig at the moment, and we were wondering if you had any idea about it," Sam explained.

"_'We'_?" Dean suddenly broke in. "'_We'_ weren't wondering anything, let alone asking for help about it. This is a job for us. Bec said she was here to get her work done so we'll do our own."

Trying to snatch back the article, Dean missed as Bec turned away to read the text. Her eyes skimmed the letters for a second before throwing the paper down on the desk. "Just a few murders." She shrugged off the significance.

Sam shook his head, doubting her words. "They're girls who died the same way. I think that something's behind it--"

"Something's behind it?" Bec mimicked to intimidate Sam. "It's great that you've figured out something's going on, but how about using your brain for once and figuring out what could be causing it."

Dean snorted as Bec insulted Sam. "Look," Sam tried to defend himself, "all we need is a lead and I'll know exactly what we - my brother and I - are dealing with."

Bec leaned across the table and grabbed a pile of pictures of the girls. She laid them across the table and leant back to gesture at Sam to take a look. "There's all the leads you need," she said with a shrug. Sam stared at the pictures until they faded into a blur. The pictures marked 'before' were sorted on the left-side of the table - they mostly consisted of smiling girls with family or friends. On the right-side, the photos marked 'after' were scattered. The same girls were crumbled on the ground in a mess of blood and intestines, their mouths open in disbelieving horror. Not finding any clues of what they were after, Sam frowned but continued to look as if he knew what he was doing. Sam began to feel perspiration on his forehead as he sensed Bec's sneering glare on the back of his neck. "Okay," Sam muttered, embarrassed that he couldn't find anything. "What is it that you see that I can't?"

Bec lifted a finger and pointed to the 'after' pictures. Her chewed fingernail jabbed at a picture of one of the older girls. Her loose sun-dress lay in tatters around her while her naked body was sprawled across the floor of her kitchen, blood covering the walls and furniture. Sam instantly flicked through the girl's file, checking over the information.

"She was pregnant," he said while shaking his head, "but she was the only one. I barely see that as a lead."

Bec rolled her eyes and moved to the next picture, a girl in blood-stained jeans, lying on a set of stone steps outside of an apartment. "She was a student studying art," Sam explained. "Nothing important." Looking irritated, Bec drifted her finger to another photo. "Her specialty was aromatherapy," Dean explained before Sam could say anything. "Not exactly what you'd call out-of-this-world." Looking up to glare at the older hunter, her finger drifted sideways to another picture. "Twenty-eight, single and worked an eight-hour job at a local pizza place," Sam picked up his explanations. Another photo. Dean grinned and said, "I like this one. Twenty-three, lived alone and was a stripper." Bec glowered at him as she pointed at the last photo. Both boys looked at each other with a shared expression of knowing. "She was a teacher," Sam started. "She worked with first-graders."

Dean actually looked slightly put-off by this one. "What a waste," he muttered. "She was gorgeous. She could have at least made six times the amount of money if she got into bar work. Man, I would pay to see her." Both boys glanced up at Bec to see her face contorted into a furious snarl. "What?" Dean asked. "You can't tell me that she wasn't pretty--"

"You have _completely_ missed the point!" she yelled. She swept her arm around the pictures to form a pile. Straightening them, she held up the photos. The girl which had been the teacher was first. "She worked with kids. She was doing a cutting activity when she severely gashed her elbow," Bec hissed. Sure enough, there was a blood-soaked bandage around the girl's arm. Bec flipped to the next picture. Aromatherapy girl. "Was stacking shelves when one of the bottles smashed on her foot." There was a large medical patch on the top of the girl's foot. Pizza-place girl. "Pulled a pizza from the oven without protection." Band-aides covered her palms and fingers. Stripper girl. "Got into a fight with a fellow stripper and received a broken arm." A splint was lying limply with her arm. Student. "Jogged for her after-hours sports program. Tripped, fell and fractured her ankle." Bandage around ankle. Pregnant woman. "Was moving into a new apartment with her husband and dropped the couch on her toe, successfully snapping the bone in three places." A large wad of white bandages was wrapped around the woman's big toe.

Dean and Sam blinked, confused and slightly afraid as Bec became more lecture-like. Turning to the laptop, Bec typed in a set of keywords where twelve more pictures of different girls popped up on screen.

Bec pointed to each of them, stating other injuries.  
"Fractured hip..."

"Broken collarbone..."

"Sliced shoulder..."

"Twisted wrist..."

"Fingernails ripped off..."

"Broken nose... Are you getting this?" Bec demanded as she had to slow to catch her breath. Dean's mouth was slightly hanging open while Sam's eyes were bulging.

Realization had dawned on Sam in the first six girls but Dean suddenly said, "They all were hurt in some way."

"Not in 'some way'," Bec corrected. "They were all hurt that could be easily seen. That's the connection between them. This _thing _likes to go after helpless targets."

Dean and Sam threw a glance at each other, astonished at the simple detail they had missed. Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to think. So they had found a lead - now what was the thing killing them? "You sound as if you already know what it is," Dean told Bec. "Mind enlightening us?"

Bec heaved a sigh and pulled up a chair. She was still shaking from her adrenaline rush of pointing out the similarities. Finally, she looked up at the cautious brothers.

"So, tell me," Bec said clearly, "what do you know about werewolves?"

Dean tucked his hands behind his head in an arrogant stance while Sam suppressed a smirk. "Dude, we've been hunting werewolves since we were seven," Dean stated.

Bec didn't seem deterred by the fact as she leaned forward on her chair. "You _think _you've been hunting werewolves since you were seven," she clarified. "I'm not talking about the little 'turn into a raging dog at night and kill a few peeps' werewolves. I'm talking about the werewolves that sold their soul to the devil so that they could devour the human flesh they sorely crave."

Dean shrugged and muttered, "Doesn't sound so different to me..."

"Ever heard of Peter Stubb?" Bec threw the question at Dean.

Dean hesitated for a second before saying, "Yeah, of course I've heard of him. He was the... uhh..." Dean threw a glance at Sam for help.

"He was the most dangerous werewolf captured," Sam answered for his brother. "He sold his soul to the devil so that he could transform at will despite the formations of the moon. He went on a raping and killing spree, massacring women, children and livestock."

Bec nodded her approval of the information. Dean tried to mask his jealousy by coughing while throwing a glare at Sam. Ignoring his older brother, Sam watched as Bec ripped a piece of paper from a notebook and scribbled a basic map of buildings in the area.

"This is where I'm sure these sons of bitches have been hiding--"

"Whoa, wait," Dean interrupted. "First, I thought you said this was nothing supernatural, and second – _'sons of bitches'_? There's more than one?!"

Bec continued drawing her map, but didn't answer. Finally, she placed the pen on the table and said, "In the early 18th century, three brothers sold their souls for the capabilities of being a werewolf. They were never caught and in fear, they travelled around the country, using the trust of young girls as a way of free accommodation and lunch. In the late 20th century, more secretive hunters stepped forward to put an end to their attacks. Through unknown sources, they entered New York and have resided here ever since. However, they are extremely hard to find because they don't have the normal qualms of having to live by the moon formations. It's no help that there're over sixty boarded-up buildings in this area that they could hide in. Now, it's only when they attack that they become these brutal, fearsome beasts which tear their victims apart. The only thing we have to go on is that they have a short temper when they're in their human form and the fact that they might stalk a bit."

Dean rubbed his chin, processing the information. Sam sighed and began to chew his nails, wondering how to hunt something that may as well not exist. Finally, Dean leaned forward and said, "Since you know so much about this, I suppose this was the thing you came to Manhattan for."

Bec glowered, not answering his question but Dean could tell he was right. Yawning, Sam began to clean up the mess of papers and files.

"There's no point working on this until tomorrow," Sam pointed out while closing his laptop. "We should get some food, sleep for a few hours then figure out a plan."

Dean nodded, grabbing the car keys. "I'll get the food. You guys clean up."

- - -

Dean twisted and turned on the motel floor. He thought he had been lucky when he saw a patch of carpet outside of the bedroom to sleep on but then realized that he may as well be lying on needles. Dean cursed himself silently for letting Bec take the only bedroom. She hadn't even thanked him for his kindness. In fact, she had been incredibly rude to him ever since she had pointed out the similarities between the victims. When he went to retrieve lunch, he had asked her what she wanted but she had given him a sharp glare as a reply. Rolling over, Dean watched as Sam slept soundlessly near the mini fridge. Being typical brothers, they had fought over what they were to get for lunch, who would get the bathroom first - apparently, Dean _always_ left the bathroom in shambles or whatever the younger brother had whined about, and who would get to sleep on the only patch of carpet. Dean had only won by threatening to steal the younger man's phone. The older man scratched his back irritably.

_Damn, this carpet is a pain in the ass,_ Dean thought angrily. Leaning up against the door for support, he relaxed slightly and closed his eyes. Inside the room, he heard the soft rustle as Bec moved around. Dean had to suppress a smirk as a thought hit him. Maybe, even in the slightest chance, she was getting changed. The possibility stirred him. Dean decided that it would only be in the best thought to check on her. That was his excuse if he walked in on her naked anyway. Giving a soft tap on the door, he turned the doorknob and entered the bedroom with barely any warning. His excited expression morphed to confusion when he didn't see anyone. Walking to the bed, he found the covers neatly tucked into the frame. No one had slept here in days.

"Bec?" Dean called, pacing to the other side of the room. A wide window sat open, the curtains rustling loudly as they billowed in the breeze. It was then that Dean realized what had happened. She had escaped.

- - -

"I've only been in town for a few days. It's all part of my tourist route," Bec lied with a bubbly emphasis on her words as the man opposite to her at the bar table listened intently.

"Tourist, eh?" the man mused with a thick, old-English accent.

Bec smiled and turned away, trying to seem shy. Her tight black top was pushed up to cut off just under her breasts. The skirt she had changed into at the last minute was one she had found in the bedroom's wardrobe; however, it was only just long enough to cover her thighs. The make-up she had spied hidden underneath the bathroom cabinet had obviously once belonged to a slut, but anything was useful to hide her identity. The man smirked and leant back, making sure she could see as much of him as he could show.

"Of course, we don't get the buildings here like we do in Alaska," Bec continued. She swept a long strand of hair behind her ear. "It's all scenery there. But New York is beautiful."

The man nodded, his straggly hair flowing past his shoulders. His hard features and set jaw made him look as if he was in his forties, perhaps older. His chin had the five o'clock shadow. "I've lived in New York a while. I have not seen tourists like you here," he said while letting his eyes wander over her. "I can show you around - that is if you want to see a bit more of the city than what most people know."

Bec threw him a pearl smile as she rested her head upon her hands, appearing to be a ditzy, young tourist who just wanted to try something new. The man's grey eyes widened slightly when he saw her bandaged hand. It was what Bec had been waiting for. "Oh? What did I do to my hand?" she asked for him as his eyes trained upon the wound. "Those airports can be so busy. I went to grab my bag and this bitch comes out of no where and slams my hand into one of those baggy-pick-up things. The medical centre at the airport said that it was just a slight scratch but I mean, the thing was pouring blood everywhere!"

The man grinned, revealing his sharp, yellow teeth. Bec watched as he leant forward and whispered suggestively, "Why don't we go somewhere... I have a charming apartment."

Bec returned the smile flirtatiously. "Oh, I don't know," she teased. "My tour guide may get a little pissed if I stay out past midnight."

"I promise we'll have fun," the man persisted, his tone hungry and desperate. "There are many things a couple can do at such a late hour."

_Including trying to kill me, right? _Bec thought to herself.

"Come," he said, grabbing her undamaged hand. "Perhaps you would enjoy to rid yourself of your--"

Suddenly, a fist from no where slammed into the man's jaw, making a sickening crunch as it made impact. The man fell back, gazing groggily up at his attacker.

_Fuck!_ Bec thought as she watched Dean Winchester drag the man back up by the collar of his shirt.

"The only place she'll be going is home," Dean snarled at the man before slamming him against the wall. All eyes turned to them as the two men began throwing punches.

"Bec, you okay?" Sam asked as he stepped around the two fighting men. Watching in disbelief as for the second time in two days, her plans unfolded into disaster, Bec let out a loud hiss of fury as she stomped out of the bar. Dean clenched his fist and let another punch collide into the man's chin. The man roared and pushed the younger man off him. Dean cried out as he flew five metres before smashing into a set of chairs. As the wood splintered and crumbled to the floor, Sam helped his brother to his feet. Blood dripped from several cuts over Dean's face. Cradling his arm, Dean turned to lunge at his opponent again but then found the man to have disappeared.

"Where the fuck did he go?" Dean hissed through clenched teeth. Sam shook his head. He was there just a second ago. Dean swore as his arm throbbed in pain. Hoping he hadn't broken anything, Dean turned and stormed from the bar with his brother following quickly behind.

- - -

Bec leant over the small table, trying hard not to smash anything and everything in the room. She had found one of _them_.

One of the _werewolf brothers_.

One of the _murderers_.

_One of the most difficult monsters to track. _

Furious was an understatement: she was _murderous_. "I'll kill them," she hissed, her mind working so fast that she was finding it hard to breathe. Outside, she could hear a set of keys jingle in the lock as two men were talking in hushed voices. Bec glanced to Dean's set-up of knives beside her hand.

- - -

"She even climbed out the frigging window," Dean continued to huff. "She escaped. That's it; from now on one of us is-- HEY!"

As he opened the hotel door, a knife flew from across the room and missed him barely by inches. Dean darted from the doorway, pressing himself against the kitchen wall to try and place a few spare inches between him and the merciless girl next to the table. Bec grabbed another knife and flung it as hard as she could to her target. Dean leapt from his position, only looking back to see that she had aimed straight for his forehead.

"Okay, Beclyn, let's talk about this," Dean said, panicky while standing. Holding out his shaking hands to signal defeat, he shook his head as she picked up another knife. "No, Bec, I know you're angry but--"

Bec flung the blade with all her might. Letting out a roar of pain, Dean glanced down to see that the knife had penetrated his thigh. Blood soaked his jeans as he ripped the weapon from his flesh and let it drop to the floor.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, rushing to help his brother but the glint of fury in Bec's eyes made him halt. "Please let us explain..." he begged.

"Let you _explain_?!" Bec laughed insanely as she approached his terrified brother.

"We thought that something had happened and you were--" Sam continued, trying to buy time for his wide-eyed brother.

Bec twirled the knife through her fingertips. "Let me explain something," she started, her breath exhaling in deep pants. "I spend years hunting these frigging things and when I finally find the frigging most powerful one, two frigging idiot brothers come and take my frigging chance away!"

Dean bit his lip as she pressed the gleaming knife to his throat. Sam took a step forward, careful not to anger her further. "Why don't we just talk about this instead of using weapons?" he suggested hopefully.

"Not a chance," Bec snarled. "You assholes took away my chance of finally destroying those bastards. I'll make sure you pay."

The knife dug into Dean's skin, a thin trickle of blood appearing at the cut. "Sam," Dean whispered, trying not to show how terrified he was.

"Let's talk about this!" Sam tried to swallow an Adams apple of fear. "Dean was only trying to protect you--"

Bec turned, letting Dean sink to the floor. Dean choked on a gasp as she advanced on Sam, the weapon swinging dangerously. "What gives you the fucking thought that I need protecting?" she exploded. "You amateurs wouldn't even know the meaning of hunting let alone have the guts to do it. You're just two wannabe's trying to get along in the world. Well, I've got news for you; the only thing that you need to protect yourselves from is _me_!"

She dropped the knife onto the table and crossed her arms, glowering at the two men.

"So... You're not gonna kill us?" Dean asked, rubbing his neck.

"Don't press your luck," Bec snapped. "If I had wanted to kill you then I wouldn't have purposely missed on the first knife."

"I just thought you had really bad aim," Dean mused.

Dean didn't have time to see what hit him. All he heard was a crack and feeling the pain of having his nose broken. Bec stood before him, her fist raised, ready to punch him again. "Sam!" he cried out for his brother as his nose exploded with pain. "Shit! I think she broke my nose!"

Sam grabbed Bec from behind. "_I'll fucking kill you!_" she shrieked at the moaning man. "Let go of me! I'll kill him!"

"Calm down!" Sam yelled as he held onto her tighter, trying to stop her from writhing and screaming.

Bec's elbow rose and shot down at lightning speed. Sam choked and spluttered in torturous pain as his family jewels were almost smashed to the back of his spine.

"_Shit_," he whimpered and sunk to the floor, his teary eyes meeting with Bec's malicious expression.

"Hope you weren't planning to have kids. That'll teach you not to grab me," she sneered before kicking him hard in the stomach. Swishing around, she stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Sam glanced up when he heard a muffled, morbid chuckling from his brother.

"What's so--" Sam cringed as pain from the attack seared through his nerves. "...Funny?"

Dean's drowned chuckle died as pain shot through his nose. "I don'd know whad's more funny," Dean grinned as he pat his nose tenderly, "her agding like a spoild deenager or you being nud-cracked by a girl. You okay?"

"Hilarious, Dean," Sam said sarcastically as he pulled himself from the floor. "Yeah, I'm fine. But I'll tell you one thing."

"What?" the older man asked as he placed a hand under his nose to stop the blood.

Sam swallowed nervously, knowing that he probably wouldn't be able to pee straight for a week before saying, "She found this werewolf after only twelve hours..."

"So?" Dean flinched as his nose jolted painfully as he pinched it.

Sam turned to the bathroom, his face paling as he dwindled over the facts. "She found him in twelve hours. That's _definitely_ not normal."

* * *

**Sorry, Sammy fans. Looks like he now has a dint in his... ummm... Well, I hope the chapters will be interesting from now. There's still a bit of brother pounding to go... I'm not going to be one of those annoying fanfickers and say, "Please review." But... You know... It would be nice in a 'people-really-do-care' way... -- sits in a corner and twiddles thumbs --**


	4. Chapter 4

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Hey all! -- smiles warmly -- Here's the next chapter and I decided to keep it short so that I can update chapter 5 soon. I hope you're enjoying it so far. I hope it's not too slow, believe me, it's gonna get quicker and more bloody and a couple of other things to seriously test my T rating. Just a very quick warning now, there is rape coming up in future chapters but I PROMISE that I'll make it safe for some people -- coughs -- SilverSkyBlade (heh. Yes, I'm picking on you this week, but I know that you'll forgive me... right? -- shifty eyes --). **

**Disclaimer: -- stares longingly at the Impala -- Can you believe that I don't even own THAT? We all know the drill... But that doesn't mean I can't kidnap Dean and Sam from Erik Kripke-- no... wait, fangirls have already done that... -- cries --**

* * *

**Provisio**

**Chapter 4**

It was two hours before Bec discarded the protection of the bathroom. The brothers glanced to her for only a second before resuming their separate tasks. Dean flicked through his father's journal as he pressed an icepack to his swollen nose. Sam was marching back and forth between the bedroom and the kitchen, carrying moldy blankets and a musty pillow from the wardrobe. Having nothing to occupy herself with, Bec leant against the stained wall, glaring at the brothers menacingly. She still wasn't impressed by their bombardment earlier, but it had given her an even better plan as to how to kill the werewolves.

Sam crouched and arranged his bed of blankets on the green tiled floor. Dean checked his watch then said, "Right. It's midnight. We should get some shut-eye - big day tomorrow."

Bec welcomed the excuse to flee, and so retreated to her bedroom without so much as a 'goodnight' grunt. Reaching a hand out behind her to shut the door, it instead collided with a figure following after her. "If you want to feel me up, just ask," Dean said cockily as he strolled to the side of the bed.

"Don't make me sick. Isn't your bed that way?" Bec gestured to the hallway, narrowing her eyes as Dean pulled back the blankets.

"It was until about four hours ago," Dean stated while propping a pillow against the wall. "Two of those hours, might I add, were spent searching bars across the city, trying to find _you_."

Dean sighed as he sat on the bed, testing the springs before swinging his legs onto the mattress and closing his eyes. Becoming annoyed, Bec crossed to his side, glaring down at the arrogant man. Sensing her approach, Dean opened one eye before asking, "Got a problem?"

"Yeah," Bec said, trying to keep her voice calm as she placed her hands on her hips, "you're in my bed."

"Sorry, Mama-Bear, but this Goldilocks ain't moving," Dean stated.

Bec raised an eyebrow as he closed his eye and settled back into a more comfortable position. Becoming ever more irritated by the second, Bec said, "You shouldn't even be in this room. This is _my _room, and if you hadn't noticed, that is _my _bed."

"Not anymore it isn't."

Dean tried not to snigger as he could sense the cranky girl glowering at him. "Look," he explained with a smirk as his eyes remained closed, "I let you have this room because I thought you were going to be a good little girl and stay in it. However, you didn't. So let's think of it as you being grounded, as in, either me or Sam must stay in the room with you at all times while you are supposedly 'sleeping'."

Bec chewed down on her lip, infuriated at being treated like a disobedient teenage girl. "I don't think you got the point," Bec clenched through her teeth. "I am telling you to remove yourself from my presence."

"There's an easy way to solve this," Dean said while patting the opposite side of the bed. "You can come and lay down next to me and we can stick to our own sides of the bed for the rest of the night, or you can continue to stand there and make a fool of yourself."

"I've got a better idea," Bec hissed. "You get the hell off my bed and stick to _your_side of the room while I stay on _mine, _or you can remain lying there while I break every single bone in your body to prove that I'm not kidding when I say that I need my personal space."

"How am I meant to stick to one side of the room? This is the only bed in here and I can't even sleep on the floor because Sam took all the blankets!" Dean objected angrily. "Besides, you already did a good enough job of trying to break my nose earlier."

Bec gestured to an old, wooden chair beside the window and watched him, hoping he'd take the hint.

"_What_?" Dean said, disbelief clear in his voice. "I can't sleep on that. The thing will collapse the moment I sit on it!"

Dean shriveled under Bec's intense glare as she neared the end of her patience. "Fine, I'll sleep on the damn chair," he sighed, climbing from the bed. "But I'm taking my pillow." Without an answer, he snatched his pillow from the bed before sitting in the chair crankily. "Better now?"

Without answering, Bec settled down into bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin to make herself comfortable.

_Maybe he would have shut up if I had actually broken his damn nose,_ she thought stubbornly.

- - -

Dean shifted for the twelfth time as he tried to find a comfortable position on the hard, rickety chair. His pillow offered no comfort as the back of the chair wasn't even to the height of his neck. Watching the peacefully slumbering girl, an idea formed in Dean's head. She was sleeping and she was only taking up the left side of the bed. That meant the right side was completely free. Which meant...

Dean grinned to himself as he clutched his pillow and quietly approached the bed. Pulling back the blankets, he congratulated himself on such a brilliant plan.

- - -

Next to the bed, two o'clock clicked onto the small digital alarm clock. Bec woke when something soft fell beside her head. Opening her eyes groggily, she felt the bed sink as something - someone - climbed into it. Eyes widening in suspicion and fear, Bec let out a high-pitched scream.

Within seconds, Sam had clambered to the room, wearing nothing but tracksuit pants, to find his brother standing by the bed looking startled and shocked. Bec was clasping a knife to his crotch, her eyes wide with hysteria and fury.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam exploded.

Dean raised his hands to signal that he meant no harm to the armed girl, but she continued to clasp the weapon dangerously close to his most precious body part.

"_He was trying to sleep with me,_" Bec hissed through clenched teeth.

"What?" Sam said, aghast as he misinterpreted her statement. "Dean, you tried to _sleep_ with her?!"

"I didn't do anything!" Dean protested. "She's crazy, man! All I tried to do was get in the bed--"

Bec brought the knife a little closer to its intended target. Dean cut off his sentence instantly.

"Sam, now would be a really great time to, I dunno, intervene maybe!" Dean said frantically.

"What am I meant to do?" Sam asked, loath to close the gap between him and Bec in case she rounded the knife on him.

"Yeah, well, you're not the one that's about to get castra--" Dean started but was interrupted by Bec.

"_Get out_."

Dean opened his mouth to protest against leaving the bed but Bec roared, "_I said, 'get out'!"_

The boys instantly scrambled out of the bedroom, abruptly hearing the door slam loudly behind them. The brothers leant back against the flimsy door to catch their breath.

"Dean," Sam chuckled - after all, it wasn't everyday that his brother came dangerously close to becoming a woman - "I think you pissed her off."

"No," Dean stated simply as he caught his breath, "she's just psycho."

- - -

_Why do I always get the worst jobs?_ Dean asked himself as he swept another spider web from his path. Holding the flashlight at arms length, Dean crouched to pass under a fallen steel beam. Rotten, meaty fats squelched under his boots as he flashed the torch around the abandoned warehouse. The smell of mixed animal limbs and intestines was almost unbearable for the hunter.

_You'd think after ten years, they'd clean this place up_. It was like the time when he had found a squished cat on the road outside the motel. Being a curious young boy, he had grabbed a stick and poked at the brains oozing from the poor creature's cracked skull. He had been violently ill afterwards, when a passing car splattered the boy with rotten cat flesh. Now, as yet another rat's skeleton crunched under his foot, he wished he was dealing with road kill instead of wading through the remains of a decade's worth of abattoir victims.

After destroying her original plans to kill the werewolves five days ago, Beclyn had sent the brothers on various disturbing and vile tasks which mostly consisted of seeking clues or collecting evidence for the purpose of 'tracking' the creatures.

"What the hell was she thinking?" Dean mused. "What the hell would find this crap enticing?"

Reaching into his pocket, he removed a green garbage bag. Gagging, he swept the plastic bag through the rotten gunk and sealed it. "Disgusting..." he muttered as he wiped his hands on his stained jeans. Flicking out his mobile, he dialed Sam's number.

"_Dean?" _

"Who else would be ringing you?" Dean answered, cursing as the foul-smelling goop clung to his pants.

"_Did you get the stuff?"_

"Yeah. I don't see who would eat this stuff though. I think Beclyn's taking a wild guess at saying these bastards actually _enjoy_ this crap."

_"Her word's better than ours. Just bring it back to the hotel room."_

"Yeah, okay. Oh, and Sam...?"

"_What?"_

"This stuff isn't going in my car, you know that, right?"

Only the beep of a severed connection answered him as Sam hung up.

- - -

"That better have been worth it," Dean grumbled as he dumped the bag upon the table with a sickening squelch. "I'm going to have to air out the Impala for a week."

Sam surveyed the bag then foolishly opened it, instantly recoiling and gagging at the stench. "Man, that stuff's foul."

The brothers stood back as Bec stepped forward and pulled on a pair of clear gloves. Without hesitation, she plunged her hand into the mixture, slowly sifting through the pink, slimy substance. Sam turned away. It was bad enough that he had smelled the contents - but watching as someone touched it made him want to throw up.

"Dude, that's sick," Dean stated, trying not to stare at the mixed animal intestines.

Making a cup with her hand, Bec scooped a heap of gunk from the bag. She trailed her finger through the mess before halting.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with your food, Beclyn?" Dean joked, trying to mask his queasiness.

Without answering, Bec pinched a wire-like object and withdrew it from the slime. Walking to the rusty kitchen sink, she washed it thoroughly with brownish water. Once satisfied with the outcome, she gently placed the object on the table. The two curious boys moved closer to observe.

"Is that what I think it is?" Sam murmured, reaching for the object.

Bec impatiently swatted his hand away with a sharp slap.

"It's a werewolf hair..." Dean muttered, covering his nose to protect it from the foul-smelling goop as he approached the table.

"That's right," Bec said as if congratulating a toddler.

"How could they...?" Sam started, but stopped to rephrase his question. "Werewolves wouldn't be able to stand the smell of something like this. It's making me want to puke as it is..."

Frowning with detest, she explained, "They wanted to hide, so the most suitable place was where no one would go. They will do anything to mask their scent from predators..."

"Wait a second!" Dean suddenly said. "Are you telling me that you sent me into the _camp-out_ of these creatures?!"

"You're such a dumb-ass," Bec growled, pulling out a small plastic bag in which to store the hair. "These things like to go for helpless targets, not to mention women--" She paused for a second to glance up at Dean. Giving him a once-over, she sighed and corrected herself, "I suppose you could pass for a woman, but as I said, they only attack _helpless_ targets."

Before Dean could retaliate, Sam butt in. "So we know where they hide. Now what do we do?"

Bec couldn't help but let a ghost of an eager smile flicker over her lips. "Get as many silver bullets as you can. Tonight, boys, we have ourselves a dog hunt."

* * *

**Now comes the fun chapter. Hehe... By the way, thank you to all the reviewers! But I'm a little depressed... I mean... I only got 3 reviews for the last chapter! Some feedback or questions would be nice... -- sniffs and wipes eyes -- ... Please...? But I do thank those loyal reviewers... They know who they are -- gives them adoring hugs --**


	5. Chapter 5

**Here it is! The next chapter! – passes out – I'm so sorry that it took so long! The fanfic system has been mean to me. Hopefully this chapter will make sense. If it doesn't then I'M SO SORRY!! This was one of those daggy chapters which has to be there but is impossible to write. Believe me, the next few chapters will be more interesting – nods enthusiastically --. I thank all of my reviewers once again (especially the people who keep reviewing and tell me what they like about the story – it makes me feel all warm and fuzziful inside…)**

**Warnings: Okay, now we start the oh-so-great rollercoaster of incredibly strong T. For the italics scene, all of you really corrupt-minded fanfickers, think your worst. Just go along with the first thing that comes into your head. Before you go, "OMG! NOT COOL!" I would just like to say that it's one of those weird things that make sense later. But for now, I WANT you to think your worst. Oh yeh, there might be a language warning on this one… But come on, we've all let these words slip once or twice…**

* * *

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Venor**

**Chapter 5**

Bec crept down the dark alleyway, her gun clasped tightly in her hand. She already figured silver bullets would be the most efficient weapon. The bullets would only kill werewolves if they pierced their hearts, but even so, the gun could still do some real damage if things got out of hand - something she thought was quite likely to happen since all the Winchesters had been so far was trouble and bad luck.

The sound of pumping blood pounded in her ears as she poured every ounce of her concentration into listening for abnormal pants or movement. Giving a quick gesture of the head, she signalled for the waiting hunters to follow.

"Why is she going first? I wanted to go first..." Bec heard Dean grumble loudly as the brothers approached.

"Will you shut up?" Bec hissed without turning, not bothering to mask her annoyance. There was something about the older hunter which she found so... irritating.

"It would be safer if I went first. She doesn't even know what she's doing," Dean complained while his brother shushed him.

"Dean Winchester, will you _kindly_ shut your mouth and stop arguing?" Bec reprimanded him. "If you hadn't noticed, I have to lead because _I _have the wounded hand _and_ I'm a girl."

Dean swiftly moved to her side. "You're a girl?" he asked in mock horror. "I thought you were a guy..."

"How intelligent, insulting a girl while she's holding a lethal weapon. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with fire?" Bec retorted.

Bec had no idea how heavily the words affected the older hunter. Luckily, Sam noticed the abrupt change in his brother as Dean glanced away, abnormally quiet.

"I think we should split up," Sam suggested. "We can hunt these things quicker--"

"Shut up," Bec suddenly ordered, concentrating her gaze to the ground as she listened intently.

"Wha--" Sam started but was cut off as Bec's head shot up. Sam cried out as she raised the gun and fired at a target just over his shoulder. Dean grabbed Sam's jacket and jerked him aside as a loud, inhuman roar emanated from the alley.

"MOVE!" Bec barked and shoved the brothers from her path.

The two male hunters shared a look of utter shock before taking off after her.

As they followed, Bec yelled, "Load your guns! Keep to the shadows! Fire at anything that moves! But whatever you do, _don't_ split up!"

"I can't hear her! What the hell is she doing?!" Dean huffed as he sprinted beside his brother.

A large, nightmarish shadow suddenly passed over the bolting hunters. "There're two of them!" Sam called to Bec but she continued to chase the fleeing creature.

The shadow flickered over the grimy brick wall as the first werewolf turned a sharp corner into a darker alleyway. Bec halted momentarily to glance back at the brothers. They were still at least thirty metres behind. "Hurry up!" she urged impatiently before realizing she was losing her prey. She lurched into the darkness, pushing stray garbage cans and burst bags of rubbish from under her feet. Something wet and gruesomely warm dripped onto her arm. Leaping back, she lifted her weapon, poised to attack. Instead, she found a slick red mark trailing down the wall. Approaching cautiously, she realised the liquid was blood.

_He's in here and he's hiding,_ she thought. _Thank God I shot the bastard._

- - -

"How can she run that fast?!" Sam panted to his brother as he approached the corner. The same shadow of a creature with sharp claws swept over the two brothers.

"Did you see that?" Dean asked, loading his gun while pressing his back against the mouldy wall.

"Yeah," Sam muttered. "Dude, what are we messing with here?"

"Doesn't matter." Dean heaved himself off the wall. "Get Bec--"

"You get Bec!" Sam objected, breaking into a sprint as he chased the shadow. "I'll get the werewolf!"

Faltering, Dean had no time to stop his brother as he bolted down the cement path and into another alleyway. Although he felt that he should have stopped Sam, Dean pushed it from his mind and rushed into the alleyway where Bec had disappeared. In a corner, a figure with dark hair faced the shadows, back turned to the hunter.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" Dean snapped irritably, wanting to scream at the girl for abandoning him and his brother. "If you had just waited two seconds--"

Suddenly, the figure swished around and lurched at the man, pinning him against the wall as sharp claws tore into his shoulders. Dean's eyes widened as he realized that he was staring at none other than the werewolf. Sticky blood poured from a bullet wound on the creature's forearm, mixing with the fresh warm fluid trickling down Dean's shoulders.

"Hunters..." the werewolf snarled maliciously, all traces of human features hidden under the thick blanket of wiry black hair. "You have no right to kill _my _family."

A clawed hand gripped his neck, squeezing painfully as the puddle of blood grew at their feet. "You come to my city, thinking you can kill _me?_" it hissed, feeling the younger man squirm. "Such a burden I shall not bear..."

Dean let out a strangled cry as the hand around his throat tightened. "A fitting end for a menace," it smirked. Dean tried his hardest to push away but the creature was too strong. Colourful dots swarmed Dean's vision. His throat was closing up - there wasn't enough oxygen for him to fight. His body was shaking with the exertion of trying to regain control. His nerves tingled, causing his fingers to twitch. The worst part was he knew that his brother was completely oblivious and too far away to save him. "Goodnight, human," the thing sneered.

"Hey!" a voice from beside them suddenly yelled. A shot reached Dean's ears. The werewolf's eyes bulged in shock as blood splattered from its shoulder. It howled in pain, releasing Dean. Fur shrivelled and fell from its afflicted flesh. In front of Dean's eyes, the vicious predator morphed to a contrasting figure. Collapsing to the cement, the figure of the muscled man from the bar lay naked, whimpering and covering his face with his hands. Bec appeared from the opposite shadows of the far wall, holding a gun. Dean watched as she approached the quivering man. The fear the werewolf had for the girl unnerved the hunter. Bec raised the gun without failing to keep eye-contact with the now defenceless creature. "P-Please..." the man begged, his voice on the verge of tears. "You killed my brother. Y-You're a murderer..."

"You bet I am," Bec said emotionlessly before letting three silver bullets rip into his chest. She didn't even blink as warm drops of crimson splattered against her cheeks.

- - -

Loading his gun quickly, Sam dashed down the narrow street. The bulbs in the streetlamps flickered as Sam paused. The creature he had been chasing was waiting, ready to attack, and the youngest Winchester knew it. Raising his weapon, Sam advanced down the path, bracing himself for a running target. As he approached the end of the street, he realized there was nothing. Not even a stray cat crossed his path. Sighing, he turned to rejoin his brother but cried out as something black swiped the gun from his hand and snapped his wrist. Sam had no time to scream for help as the werewolf stepped into the light, revealing a sharp-toothed snarl, frightening claws and a height that was more than four feet taller than the hunter. Without hesitating, Sam leapt for the fallen gun, only to be attacked again.

Sam fell to his knees as a fist collided with his face. Warm blood spurt from Sam's nose, making him cough and wince in pain. The werewolf scraped its claws over the brick walls causing bright sparks to light the semi-darkness of the alleyway. Finding glee in watching the young man suffer, the werewolf kicked Sam squarely in the gut. Sam spluttered as the wind was knocked from his lungs. "How does it feel to be alone and doomed?" the creature taunted as it dragged its hairy, lumbering body to circle Sam. "It's about time that you humans found out what it's like."

"Guess again," Dean said from behind the monster. In less than a second, he had the werewolf pegged against the slimy wall. Bec let two bullets bring the reign of horror to a close. Sam gasped for air as Dean pulled him to his feet. Bec stared as the skin and hair fell from the creature to make small piles of the only remainder of the werewolf. Turning to the boys, she said, "Job's done. Time we got out of here."

Dean wrapped a supportive arm around his brother's shoulders as he said, "The job's not done yet. We only killed two. There're three brothers."

Without averting her gaze, she stared straight into his eyes. Dean felt a shudder crawl up his spine as her unblinking glare remained glassy.

"I said I came to this city to finish a job I started long ago." Without another word, she swivelled on the spot to make her way back to the Impala.

- - -

"I told you she's psycho," Dean persisted his younger brother, speaking in a hushed tone as Bec showered in the next room.

"And she told _you_ that she was finishing a job," Sam groaned for the sixth time. "She must have killed the third brother during her last visit. No biggie."

"This is a _big_ biggie, Sam!" Dean whined as he finished polishing his knife. "That werewolf was terrified of her. It was like... She was a mad killer or something..."

"Well, Dean, if she held a gun to my face then I think I'd be a bit nervous too," Sam sighed, packing away the remnants of the research files. "Just be happy that we can say goodbye after tonight. All the banshee effects would have worn off by now."

"Thank God," Dean muttered. "I was getting sick and tired of her threatening to castrate me."

Rolling his eyes, Sam stood. Letting out a long yawn, he asked, "Is it me or you that has to sleep with her tonight?"

Dean smirked and raised an eyebrow. "That sounds so--"

"Will you answer the question?" Sam snapped. He had taken enough jokes from his brother about sleeping in the same room as Beclyn. Dean some how found it amusing that Sam could even be in close proximity to a girl, despite the many months he had spent with Jess.

Sighing, Dean gestured to the bedroom and said, "The chair's all yours."

- - -

_"No! Stop!" Bec tried frantically to escape from her attacker's grip as he grabbed her torn shirt and yanked her back. Her face was half-masked in shadow as she fought against the man. The night did little to hide her fears as she tried to pull away. Soft, mysterious screams were shrieking into the darkness, begging to be known. _

_"Dean! Dean, you can't do this! I-I don't want to do this... Please..." she pleaded, trying to fight him off with the last of her strength. A bright light washed over the two as Dean pulled her to his chest affectionately, whispering calm words to coax her as a tear trickled down her cheek. "You can't do this... Please don't do this to me..." she murmured pathetically, quivering as Dean tightened his grip. Lowering his mouth to her ear, he mumbled something, shocking Bec to the point of hyperventilation. _

_"N-No..." she gasped, turning to meet his eyes. "You c-can't do that!" A shadow flickered over the two hunters, distracting them. Bec swished around instantly, startled as she saw the tall figure cloaked in black. Her eyes widened in a desperate plea for help as the figure paused a considerable distance before them. "Sam!" Bec called to the figure. "Your brother... He's going t-to... Please, Sam, help me!" The figure visibly seemed crushed and wiped away his tears as Bec begged for help. Dean now had her clasped to his chest, pegging her arms to her side. _

_"You just have to accept it, Bec," Dean said authoritatively, lifting a hand to tenderly brush through her long, tangled hair. His eyes were desperate, finding it difficult to suppress emotion._

_The figure shook as he watched the two. "I'm sorry..." Sam told her in an unusually husky, solemn voice. "Beclyn, you have to understand... It's--"_

_"It's necessary," a voice behind him said sternly. Sam turned slowly to see his father staring at the girl, his expression taut, impatient. _

_"John!" Bec cried, her eyes shining with new hope as the father entered the scene. "You have to stop your sons! They're going to--"_

_"I know," John interrupted, his face emotionless as the girl's face fell from hope to disbelief. "I ordered them to do it."_

Sam woke instantly. He choked for air as his throat contorted, restricting the oxygen. A burst of severe pain rushed through his mind, making him fall from the rickety chair. The blood pounded in his ears as he lurched forward in desperate attempt to reach the bed. "Bec..." he whispered through a cough. The room spun violently and bright lights clouded his vision. Pulling himself from the floor, he collapsed onto the bed, still fighting to control his spasming muscles. Bec woke abruptly then screamed as he grabbed her wrist in a painfully tight grip. His eyes were glazed in delusion as he closed his hand over hers. Wrenching back and sticking out her knees, she shoved him away. He fell back but refused to release her fingers. "Let go!" she roared and kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him sprawling back onto the floor. Dean appeared in the doorway, his shocked gaze shifting from the screaming girl to his spasming brother. "Sam!" Dean cried out and crouched beside the boy. "Sam, speak to me, what are you seeing?"

With his heart slowly returning to a normal rate, Sam glanced up at his brother. "What'd you see?" Dean repeated, an arm slipping around Sam's shoulders as he hoisted him from the floor.

"What the hell is going on?" Bec yelled as Dean sat Sam on the bed.

Continuing to tremble, the youngest hunter covered his eyes with his hands, trying to block the disturbing images from the vision masked as a dream. "I-I was... You w-were..." Sam tried to explain. Raising a finger to point at Bec, he said, "You were grabbing her and I think..."

Dean watched as his brother suddenly doubled over, his head between his knees. With a sudden lurch, brownish chunks from dinner splattered across the carpet as the younger man vomited. Sam choked on stomach acid and whimpered as his head throbbed. "It's okay," Dean soothed as he pat his brother's back. "Just a nightmare."

"How the hell was that just a nightmare?" Bec shot at him. "I've _never_ seen anyone act like that after a nightmare."

Dean threw her a glare before saying, "Bec, can you give us some privacy?"

Pouting angrily with many objections, she was shoved from the room so Dean could question Sam.

"It was a vision, wasn't it?" he muttered after knowing his brother had calmed down. Nodding softly, Sam began to explain the vision in as much detail as he could remember. Dean listened intently, shaking his head as Sam finished.

"It was almost as if you were trying to--" Sam started but the warning glint in his brother's eye made him falter.

"Well, that makes things a lot easier for us," Dean said sarcastically, running a hand through his hair.

Sam was still shaking from the horror of the vision.

_The way that he had dragged her back, affectionately touched her, made her beg and scream for mercy... _Sam swallowed nervously as he dared not to think further.

"Are you completely sure I was...?" Dean inquired, his fingers twitching as the weight of the situation fell upon his shoulders. "I mean, you were standing right there! If you thought I was going to hurt her, don't you think you would have intervened or something?"

"I don't know, Dean," Sam mumbled. "Whatever you were going to do, Dad had ordered you to do it." Sam hesitated, knowing what his brother was thinking. "You've never gone against Dad's orders. If Dad had told you to... do something like that then I dunno--"

"Do _what_, Sam?!" Dean abruptly yelled. Beads of perspiration had formed across his face, showing that the situation was unnerving him.

"Dean, it was a _vision_. It could mean anything. Just because it seems undoubtfully obvious that you were trying to ra--" Sam faltered. He had never seen his brother so confused and angry. "Look, it was a vision. Not all of my visions come true."

Dean hesitated as a realization dawned on him. "Sam, Dad was in that vision."

"Yeah, he was giving the order-- Wait," Sam started but stopped.

"This is good," Dean couldn't help the excitement mix with his fear. "Do you know what this means?"

"It means that Dad's crazier than I thought," Sam stated while wiping vomit residue from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"No," Dean hissed before leaning forward so that only his brother could hear him. "I think it means that Beclyn is going to lead us to Dad!"

* * *

**Okay! There, done! Next chapter will be more interesting, completely and utterly promise! I'm not going to give away anything but I am sooo looking forward to writing it – grins evilly --. Bad thing is that school starts next week so I may as well be signing my soul over to the demons we call teachers. Perhaps if I get a few reviews then I'll update quicker… -- twiddles thumbs --.**

**By the way, if anything clashes with the season two episodes of Supernatural (I.E: They're almost exactly alike) then please don't kill me! I'm Australian, meaning that I'm still waiting for the third episode. Yes, count it, THIRD! Dean covered in vampire blood… -- drools – **

**Remember, R+R please!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for taking so long. I've been sick with a freak cold in autumn. Aren't these things meant to wait till winter by any chance...? Oh well. You know that I'd write a huge author's note at the beginning of a chapter but right now I'm doubled over with cramps. DAMN YOU, EVOLUTION! Hey, has anyone been having trouble with trying to review? I've been trying to review to a couple of fanfics and the evil screen of 'page cannot be found' kept cropping up. --sighs-- The horrors of dial-up.**

**Warnings: Swearing, violence, and a bit of destruction --grins evilly--. Oh, and Dean with a massive headache... Don't ask me why I put that in the warnings...**

**Disclaimer: --sings-- Oh where are my Winchesters? Oh where are my Winchesters? Oh where, oh where, oh where are my Winchesters? --stops singing and frowns-- Bloody fangirls have nicked off with them again... --runs after fangirls-- Give me back my stolen Winchesters!!**

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Malus **

**Chapter 6**

"This is kidnapping!" Bec screamed as the Impala tore along the road.

"We're not kidnapping you," Sam explained carefully as he spread the map across the dashboard, grimacing as he nudged his injured hand from the werewolf attack. "We're just... There's a gig that we need your help with. Right, Dean?"

Giving a gruff snort for a reply, the oldest brother trained his eyes on the long stretch of black road looming in front of them. The mid-afternoon sun shone brightly onto the rugged interior of the car.

"I don't want to help you with your Goddamn gig!"

"You could have said that five hours ago when we left the motel."

"I _did! _Seven times, in fact!"

Dean groaned. The last week had left him with an enormously painful headache from Bec's screaming, yelling and swearing. It seemed that nothing that the older hunter did was considered right. If he tried to take the shower first then she would whine. If he chose the wrong take-out for dinner then she would snarl. If he even tried to make her say _thank_ _you_ then he was threatened to no end. He had learnt not to brush off her threats. Her threats were considered as a three second warning in advance. One wrong move and the brothers would be in pain for the next few lifetimes.

"... and I'm perfectly fine. Better than what you'll ever be, you little brat!"

"Excuse me?!" Sam retaliated, slamming down the map, obviously insulted. "Just because you're a few years older than me doesn't mean that you're--"

"Sam, give it up," Dean told his younger brother who was glowering furiously into the rearview mirror at the smirking girl.

"Yeah, _Sammy_. Give it up," Beclyn taunted. She couldn't help but feel a spiking sense of domination as the youngest hunter launched into another explosive rant on how annoying she was.

"...and it's _Sam!_" he finished, sucking in deep breaths to calm himself.

Bec raised an eyebrow. She had thought she would be halfway across the country or to the border by now. Instead, the brothers had dragged her to the car and refused to let her out. The Winchesters had dodged any questions concerning the night before. She had heard a few words as the brothers talked, mostly concerning their father and her.

_"We've been looking for our Dad for over half a year and we--" Dean bit his lower lip, hating himself for what he said next. "--need your help."_

_"That's your problem, not mine," Bec snarled, shoving crinkled shirts into her duffel bag. She couldn't wait to ditch the brothers and hitch a ride north._

_Sam sighed, knowing the stubborn girl wouldn't understand. "Beclyn," he started, leaning forward in the table's seats to try and seem as solemn as he could, "we think you could be a great help to us. You tracked an _untraceable _creature in less than a day without even leaving the hotel room. Our Dad should be a piece of cake compared to that."_

_Bec bit her lip, trying to sort her choices out in her head. She could either help the brothers and ditch them after, or stomp out of the room now and almost certainly be yanked back in by the eldest guarding the door. _

_"Fine." Beclyn turned to face Sam. "Give me his journal and I'm sure I can track him."_

_"I'm afraid that's not going to work," the youngest told her, remembering the vision. "You'll have to come with us."_

_"I'm not going anywhere with you!" _

_"Look, Bec," Dean started, "it'll only be a few weeks. If we haven't found him by then, we'll let you go."_

_Pondering, Beclyn finally snapped, "Find him yourself."_

Only after another two hours of pointless bickering and arguing did Dean finally grab her bag and toss it into the backseat, Beclyn along with it. Dean had always considered Sam to take the cake whenever it came to bitching about anything and everything, but now he realized that he was nothing compared to Beclyn.

With his headache intensifying, Dean wished the two younger hunters would cease their screaming match.

"Have you ever thought that maybe your father doesn't want to be found?" Beclyn snapped at Sam.

"We've been looking for him for over half a year and you think the thought has never occurred to me?" Sam yelled back. "The reason we're looking for him is because he's hell-bent on hunting a demon! God knows what he'll do to anyone to get revenge--"

"Revenge for what?"

The question hit both boys hard in the heart.

_Mum,_ they both thought.

"When I was six months--" Sam started but Dean interrupted.

"Lost someone when we were little - not a huge deal. We just want to get this son of a bitch before it gets someone else."

Sam turned to Dean, confused.

They had lost _someone?_ _Someone_ was an understatement. They had lost the most influential person of their lives and Dean was calling her _someone_? Sam wanted to punch Dean. He wanted to scream and yell at his brother for being so ignorant. Hell, the youngest hunter hadn't even known her but he knew she was the kindest, sweetest, most loving person to step into his father's life. They needed to find John because Sam knew his father would stop at nothing to slaughter the creature that took her way.

"So..." Beclyn sighed. "What did this thing actually _do_?"

For a second, Dean thought that Beclyn was serious about wanting to know about the demon. One quick glance into the backseat and he realized that she was trying to distract them as she picked at the lock on the passenger door.

"Stop mutilating my car!" Dean roared, pain spiking through his head on every syllable.

Exasperatedly slumping back onto the leather seat, Beclyn let out a hiss of annoyance.

"Now listen to me." Dean clenched his teeth as his head throbbed with every word he spat. "Dad's been missing for a little over half a year. He left his most prized possession - the journal - in our hands. _We_ need to find him because he needs our help--"

"Must have been someone important," Beclyn suddenly interrupted.

"What?" Sam turned in his seat to see the girl with her arms folded over her chest, her mouth twitching with anger and impatience.

"The _someone_ that this demon killed. Must have been important to the two of you as well."

Both of the boys sat still and silent. Dean threw a warning glare at Sam to not mutter a word about their mother. The less information she knew, the less she could toil.

"I'm thinking that it's someone that would usually play a big part in anybody else's life. Your father's looking for what killed them so I'm thinking it's a lover thing. So far you've only managed to speak of 'Daddy', maybe it's about time that you explain to me about your mother. Or should I ask how exactly this demon killed your Mummy so that you can just hurry up and get it over with," Beclyn guessed in a sickly-sweet voice as if she were coaxing three-year olds.

"Just shut up," Dean muttered, keeping his eyes on the road. He hoped she couldn't see how watery his eyes were becoming.

_Keep it together,_ he told himself. _She can't say anything if she doesn't know._

"Don't call her Mummy," Sam said roughly.

_And my idiot brother just had to open his big mouth, _Dean mentally sighed.

"She was more than anything to us and she was ripped away," Sam elaborated.

Beclyn lips twitched as a sneer formed over her face. Now that she had a response, she was going to prod and poke at the issue until one of the brothers broke. She grasped firmly onto the theory that if she annoyed them enough, they would let her go free.

"It must have been awful," Beclyn drabbled, continuing her sick-sweet voice which was powerful enough to break even the most stable minds - she was already seeing Dean twitch. "To have her there one moment and gone the next..." Beclyn clucked her tongue. "What was her name...? Alicia, Gwen, Stacy...?"

"Mary."

Dean felt a muscle twitch in his neck at his brother's stupidity when Sam answered the question without a second thought. Didn't he realize that Beclyn was just toying with him?

"Oh." Beclyn's eyebrows furrowed as if she was trying to remember something important. Suddenly, her face fell. Dean glanced back at her and felt his jaw clench.

_About time she realized what she is messing with._

As if to agree with him, Beclyn turned away and began to watch the road.

Then it all went wrong.

She had almost been so close to getting Sam to spill the beans on his family when suddenly her head felt like a bolt of lightning had shot through it. It was too painful to be a headache so Beclyn instead tried to mask the jolts by asking more questions - pitiful things like the mother's name.

She didn't expect Sam to answer.

_Mary._ _Mary Winchester._

She didn't expect the name to hit her so hard. Why would it? It meant nothing to her. At least she didn't think so. So why did her head hurt so much?

Averting her gaze from the front seat, she turned to look out the window. Biting on her lip, her head pounded painfully. The road was going by so fast. Too fast. Beclyn let out a moan as the ground blurred.

"You okay back there?" Dean asked, not particularly caring.

_"Mu oley ack re?"_ was all Beclyn heard. She blinked, confused and afraid.

_What the hell is happening?_ She asked herself.

Instantly regretting it as a thousand jolts shot through her skull, Beclyn screamed in pain and clawed at the seats, the windows, the upholstery - anything she could.

"Dean, pull over!" Sam yelled at his brother but Dean was already turning onto the side of the road, his eyes wide with fear.

_"Ar'my!" _

The voice was faint, mechanical and ghost-like. It surrounded Beclyn, causing her to gape in fear. It was disorientating, confusing... terrifying. The World began to brighten and tilt. There were only flashes of Sam scrambling out of the car and to the backseat, Dean unhooking his seatbelt and turning to call to Beclyn.

"_Mar'my!"_ the voice belonged to a young child.

Tears filled Beclyn's eyes as her head hit the seat.

_"Mummy!" A boy screamed at a wooden burning house. "Somebody help my family!"_

_Four fire-fighters stood on the curb of the street, watching helplessly as the home was engulfed in flame. A heaving, overweight man grabbed the screaming boy and yanked him away, ignoring the sobs of protest from the child. Walkie-talkies blared static in between messages of, "Too dangerous. No entrance. House falling apart."_

_One of the gruffer-looking fire-fighters mopped his brow with a greasy handkerchief before saying, "How many should we tell the coroner?"_

"_Should be three bodies," another grave-looking fire-fighter answered. Gesturing to the wailing boy, he muttered, "Poor kid lost both of his parents and his baby sister. Gonna be an orphan, this one."_

_Even from the secluded depths of the oak tree, Beclyn watched in glee as havoc reigned around the home. The golden flames licked at the glass of the house windows while a child screamed for his parents below. Fire trucks, police cars and ambulances crammed the crowded street. Blue and red lights swirled over the massive cluster of people gaping stupidly as officials gazed hopelessly, knowing there was nothing they could do. _

_The scene was so helpless, so destructive, so... beautiful. _

"_You enjoyed that," a deep voice mused from behind her. _

_The teenage girl swivelled around, trying to hide the excitement from her features. Voices screamed below as the glass in the windows shattered. _

"_You do this for your job?" she asked, turning back to observe the shrieking crowd._

_A smirk flickered over her companion's face. She was doing as he had hoped; she was enjoying the terror he had inflicted upon the pathetic humans._

"_Amazing, isn't it?" he drawled, removing himself from his sitting position on the large branch to cross to her side._

_Suddenly, several explosive bangs filled the night. Within seconds, the wooden supports of the house splintered and snapped. Beclyn watched in awe as what once was a home crumbled into itself and smashed to the dirt. The crowd screamed in fear as sharp wooden splinters rained upon them, slashing at their exposed skin. _

_As brown, choking dust swirled around the site, Beclyn giggled and inquired, "Did you do that?"_

_Another smirk filled the demon's lips as his yellow eyes played upon the girl. "Time to go, Beclyn," he told her._

"_What?!" she choked and swivelled around to glare at him, her eyes filled with disbelief. "Can't we stay here? This is the best fun I've had in ages!"_

"_I'm afraid not," the demon said. "It is late. You and I have much work to do tomorrow."_

"_Screw work!" the girl exploded. "I'm fifteen. I'm old enough to look after myself!"_

"_Beclyn..." the demon scolded. His voice cracked and grew faint. _

"'_Eclyn... E'lyn..."_

_Then the World began to spin._

"Beclyn?" Dean asked, his voice much too loud for the stirring girl to handle.

The word shot through her mind then sent vibrations of agonizing pain into her skull. Beclyn moaned and wrapped her arms around her queasy stomach. She opened her eyes for a second then yelped as a bright light clouded her vision. She tried to suck in lungfuls of air but her throat was clenched. A cloud had formed in her mind, cutting off any thoughts, demands or control over her body. Perspiration dripped down her face. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't think and she was going to throw up.

Then suddenly, it was gone.

The cloud dispatched and her throat opened. Gasping for air, Beclyn sat up instantly, her stomach settled as if nothing had happened. She was shaken, but fine. The only evidence that showed that anything had happened was the moist sweat drenching her clothes and the haunting memory of the burning home.

And the memory of herself.

Beclyn's eyes bulged. She was with a demon and she was fifteen. Ten years ago... Fifteen with a demon... Burning houses... Murdering innocent people...

Now she really was going to throw up.

She was going to lean over the side of the car and lurch before a supportive hand clasped onto her shoulder.

"Beclyn, you okay?" Dean asked, rubbing the palm of his hand up and down her back to soothe her.

The words flooded from Beclyn's mouth before she had a chance to regain her thoughts. "Fifteen," she muttered, the words shooting from her mouth. "Running for five years from _them_ and I didn't even know who they were and now I'm here and I haven't got a clue and I thought that maybe everything would be okay but now it's not because I don't even know who I am but there was a house and a boy and a fire-fighter and a demon and a tree and me and then I was smiling and then I was angry but now I think I'm crazy because I wouldn't do that!"

Beclyn's eyes widened as she clamped a hand over her mouth. Did she just say all of that in one breath? She glanced up to see Dean looking down at her blankly.

_My God,_ Beclyn thought, _he knows. He knows about me now. I'm done for. Could he read my mind? Did he see me with the demon, killing those people? Maybe he wants to kill me now. He wants to kill me and laugh over my dead body._

Perspiration trickled down her forehead as the two gazes locked onto each other. Her eyes tried to frantically search his.

_He's reading my thoughts. He's thinking, 'I should get rid of this monster because she deals with demons and kills people.' But I didn't know! I couldn't remember! I CAN'T REMEMBER ANYTHING! _

Beclyn opened her mouth to scream but Dean stopped her abruptly when he asked, "What'd you say?"

_Eh?_

"What?" she said, dumbstruck.

Dean waited, his eyes blinking stupidly. "I barely caught a word of what you just said."

Relief was an understatement as Beclyn let out a large sigh. Her thoughts calming abruptly, she shoved his arm away brutally and hissed, "Don't touch me!"

The warm, caring gleam in Dean's eyes suddenly switched to a cold, hard glint. That was the last straw.

"Don't touch you?" he asked while laughing sourly. "I can't believe this! First I have to put up with you and Sam picking at each other until suddenly you pass out then I have to pull over and waste an hour of _my _time trying to calm Sam while making sure you don't rip my baby to pieces with your thrashings. Then after all of that, Sam says that he won't get back in the car until I promise that we stop at the closest hotel for _you_. Then I just try and be a little bit comforting and you tell me not to touch you! How about cutting me some slack here before I lose my mind!"

Shaking her head, Beclyn didn't even attempt to comprehend what he was ranting about. Pushing him away from the car door, she placed her legs on the ground and stood.

"Hate to tell you, Dean," Beclyn sighed curtly, looking cool, calm and collected. "You lost it a long time ago."

**Hope you enjoyed that! Just letting you know, that's only the zillionth-trillionth tenth of an inch of what's going to happen in this fanfic. Warnings should be cropping up soon. Oh yeh, I did tell some people that the brothers were going to get a bit of a bashing. I take that back. They're going to get SLAUGHTERED. --laughs maniacally--. Oh, by the way, Beclyn's got a bit of a past behind her which is slowly... very slowly... almost too slowly... catching up to her. But I promise that it'll be all good... hopefully. **

**Please review because it's all that's keeping me going and if I think that people like it then I'll update faster --smiles--.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, I'm back! Once again, sorry that this took so long to get up. I thank coldestkiss77 for telling me to hurry up and post this chapter. I had this whole chapter planned out with so many scenes and I was kicking myself when once again, it was too long and I had to move a good one to my next chapter. If you hadn't noticed, I'm trying to keep the chapters short and quick to read because I know how it feels to be stuck trying to read a 60 page chapter. **

**Disclaimer: Sam and Dean, unfortunately, are not mine… Could try and hi-jack the Impala though… No, wait. That belongs to WB studios as well… **

**Warnings: It took so much out of me to write this chapter. I'm a person who cringes at even a kissing scene so this was really hard to write. A bit of sex in the weirdest way, some swearing and a bit of Dean smashing. Heh. Just a reminder that this is a very, very strong T fanfic. **

* * *

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 7**

**Dormito**

Sam toyed with his floury mashed potatoes as he wondered about what had happened to Beclyn earlier. He was sure she had suffered the pain of a vision but was being too stubborn to converse with the brothers. Instead, she had collected a number of green peas from her TV dinner - which she was refusing to eat - and had lined them up on the cracked brown table top, making sure they were completely and obsessively neat before flicking them with perfect precision at her target: Dean's head. Swatting at the tiny emerald bullets, Dean seethed in frustration. For the thousandth time that afternoon, Sam tried to edge his way into making Beclyn talk about what she had seen.

"You know, whenever I have a vision--"

"It wasn't a vision," Beclyn said calmly, staring at the writhing Dean as he fought to control his rising temper, "and I don't want to hear about your visions, circus freak."

Sam bit down on his lip, causing a sharp sting of pain in the soft flesh. God, she could be so heartless at times.

"I'm just saying that I know how hard it is. These things aren't normal and if you saw something that could help us save lives then just say it."

Beclyn didn't show any sign of acknowledgement as she positioned another pea and then flicked it, hitting her intended target, who was now turning scarlet in the face as his fury deepened. Sam hunched over his meal, defeated and fatigued. Having exhausted his ideas for making her talk, he tried to ignore the two older hunters as the younger continued to flick peas at the eldest. His fork weaved through the fluffy white mound of food, his appetite non-existent. While Beclyn was fishing around on her plate for more ammo, Dean glanced at his younger brother, knowing that Sam only wanted to help Beclyn but instead had had his will shattered.

"Hey, Sam, if you're tired--" Dean started. He stopped and turned to throw a hopeful look at Beclyn, wondering if she could give a word of advice. He regretted it as yet another emerald pearl hit him between the eyes. "Beclyn, that is really annoying. Stop it." he demanded.

"Yes, mother," Beclyn answered sarcastically, poised to flick another.

Closing his eyes, biting on his frustration, Dean tried another attempt at talking to Sam. "Dude, you look tired. You should get some sleep because we'll be traveling again tomorrow."

"I'm fine," Sam mumbled numbly as he dropped his fork into a pile of mushy carrots.

Feeling his morale slide as his brother sunk deeper into the clasps of depression, Dean opened his mouth to crack a joke about finding a bar and getting a girl but was rudely interrupted as a set of flying peas hit him in the temple.

"Beclyn, act your age and not your tit size," Dean said smugly as he glared at her.

An overcooked carrot flew at his nose in reply.

"You know what? I give up when it comes to you. You're--" Dean began but was caught off when Sam yawned slightly, his dark hair falling into his eyes making him seem as if he were a small boy in desperate need of a nap.

Beclyn's cold, disdainful expression slipped as she watched the young man blink softly, exhausted. "Sam..." she said, catching both of the men off-guard with a deep, feminine voice - usually it was sharp and snappy. "You didn't get much sleep last night after your vision. You should get some rest now while you have the chance. I'm about to go to sleep myself."

Blinking in confusion, Dean watched as Sam nodded obediently and slumped over to the only bedroom. "You've got to be kidding me..." Dean muttered under his breath as Sam disappeared from the room. Beclyn seemed undeterred as she let her hands fall into her lap. For a second, he swore she had the demeanor of a caring mother. He almost expected her to give a warm smile and ask for his plate to wash, but was snatched back from this visualization as Beclyn snapped, "Don't you dare think I care about anyone just because I told him to go to bed. I was sick of his presence, that's all."

Without another word, she brushed off her jeans and stood to go to the bathroom. Dean watched her as she tossed back her dark hair and disappeared through the door. When he was sure she couldn't see him, Dean let a soft smirk cross his lips. He knew she cared only because she now knew what Sam had to go through every time he had a vision. Dean placed his hands behind his head as he rocked back on his chair.

_She's scared because she had to go through the same thing. _

If only he could get her to explain what she had meant by _'fifteen'_, _'running from them'_ and _'I don't even know who I am' _from earlier in the car.

Beclyn would have spent over an hour in the calming depths of hot water if Dean hadn't bashed on the bathroom door, yelling at her to remove herself from the bath. At first she was completely ignoring him, not caring for his impatient yet empty threats of breaking down the door, but then decided against tempting him to carry through. Looking not at all concerned, she slipped on a baggy, loose shirt. Reaching for her jeans, her expression morphed to disbelief. There was a large green stain on the left leg.

_Damn it!_ She mentally yelled at herself. _These were meant to last me another week!_

Grinding her teeth angrily, she pulled on a pair of underwear then tried to drag down the shirt as far as it would go. The whitish-grey shirt had belonged to Sam, but just one glance at the state of her other clothes had made him surrender the shirt with an open heart. Beclyn had accepted it grudgingly. The thin excuse for fabric was almost completely see-through, making her feel awkwardly naked. She wondered if she could wear the jeans out of the bathroom then slip into something else when the boys fell asleep.

_That won't work,_ she decided. _Dean would notice the stain straight away and make a snide comment about it being a sign not to throw peas at him. Makes me wish I had thrown my whole frigging plate at him. _

"Beclyn!" Dean yelled from the other side of the door. "Some of us have to take a leak!"

Her patience reaching its limit, she shoved the jeans into a plastic bag which she used for dirty clothes, then straightened her shirt before opening the door. Dean was halfway through roaring another order when he saw her. It took him less than a second to figure out that something was missing. His eyes slipping down, he realized that she wasn't wearing pants. The shirt she was wearing had been pulled taught over her sensuous body, giving a perfect view to every curve. Her thighs were slim and bare in the kitchen light while the shirt was stretched across her large, perky breasts. Cocking an eyebrow, he replaced his snarl with a toothy grin.

"You mind?" she asked aggressively.

"Not at all," he said with a cheeky smile, enjoying the view.

Glowering, she stepped forward so that she was almost touching him. Beclyn leaned across his shoulder so that her breath was tickling his ear. "Look all you want," she whispered harshly, "it's the closest you're gonna get." Turning abruptly, she stomped into the bedroom.

Dean's smile remained plastered on his lips as he muttered, "We'll see about that."

Giving her privacy while she dressed, Dean waited outside the door as Beclyn pulled on a pair of clean blue jeans before tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. She didn't give much thought to the sleeping form of Sam. He was in too much of a deep sleep to perve on her. Collapsing onto one of the three single beds, she felt like she could sleep for several thousand years.Once she was almost asleep, Dean strolled into the room. Flopping onto the moldy mattress closest to Beclyn's bed, Dean closed his eyes and smirked once again at the image of the half-dressed girl.

_Dean stirred as something across the room shifted. "Sam?" Dean mumbled groggily. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to see through the darkness but the far wall was shrouded in shadow. "What is it, Sam? Another nightmare?"_

_"I'm glad that you're awake," a deep, feminine voice suddenly purred from the shadows. _

_"Beclyn?" Dean slowly sat up, trying to blink the lingering effects of sleep from his mind. _

_In a very thin stream of light coming from the window, Beclyn's face appeared. Her dark eyes twinkled like deep jewels in the white moonlight. _

_"Why are you up? What time is it?" Dean asked as he turned to try and glance at the clock beside the bed. _

_"Shh," she whispered. "You'll wake Sammy."_

_"Sammy?" he muttered, amused. Since when did she start calling him that? He checked the room when he heard his brother's name but then realized that the room that he was in was not the one in which he had fallen asleep. There was only one bed, which he was lying in, and the room seemed a lot cleaner than what he had remembered. _

_"Where are we?" Dean tried to hide his confusion with a forced yawn. _

_"Your room," was the teasing reply from the girl masked in shadows. Dean blinked, dazed. There was something about her that was different. She was almost being... playful. _

_"What's going--" _

_"You talk too much," Beclyn reprimanded softly. _

_Crossing the room, Beclyn swung her hips seductively before slowly climbing onto the bed. Her hand teasingly slid up his leg, stopping on his thigh. _

_Confused was an understatement for the almost hyperventilating older hunter. _

_"What's wrong?" Beclyn whispered._

_"I--" Dean didn't get to finish his sentence as her mouth met his. Eyes wide in shock, Dean watched as she pulled away gently and playfully ran her tongue over his lips. Trying to think clearly, Dean asked, "You feeling okay?"_

_A soft smile formed over Beclyn's face._

_God, when did that smile get so amazing? Dean asked himself as he dove for her lips. _

_Wrapping her arms around his neck, Beclyn let Dean's tongue slip into her mouth. His arms pulled her closer until she was leaning against him. Beclyn groaned as Dean's hand wandered over her chest, groping hungrily for what lay beneath the flimsy fabric. _

Beclyn slowly opened her eyes as someone called her name. Relaxing back into the blankets, she closed her eyes in hope of catching more shut-eye before Sam decided to try one of his little 'wake up calls' again. Suddenly, her eyes shot open. There was _definitely_ a sound coming from somewhere in the room. Glancing over to Sam, she found him sprawled across the bed, loud snores gargling from his open mouth. He had obviously been moving around in the night due to the twisted blankets at the foot of the bed and his pillow on the floor. Beclyn's head turned when she heard the sound again. It was like a dog choking on a bone - somewhat of a hacking gargle. Suddenly, there was movement from Dean's bed. Beclyn's eyes watched suspiciously as he moaned and twisted within his blankets. She wondered if she should get up and wake him to relieve him from whatever he was dreaming about, but knew that it would require removing herself from the warm bed that she was lying in.

"_So hot_..." Dean suddenly mumbled, groping around in midair as if feeling something.

It was then that it dawned on Beclyn that he was having a very 'special' dream.

Trying not to gag, she rolled over and covered her ears to block out the sound of Dean groaning and tossing in his bed.

_Probably dreaming about a random chick who's all tits and no brains,_ Beclyn told herself.

A very loud, pleasurable gasp from Dean made her tense under the blankets.

_This is a nightmare,_ she thought. _What sick, sad bastard thought up this torture for me to endure?_

"_Beclyn,"_ Dean suddenly murmured ever so quietly.

Not quietly enough.

"_So hot, Beclyn..."_ Dean continued, obviously enjoying his dream.

_Jesus Christ,_ Beclyn swore to herself._ What the hell is he doing? _

Over a thousand images hit her mind at once, mostly of her and the gasping companion tossing and moaning in a bed. That was enough for her anger to rise instantly. She looked around her bed, searching for some kind of weapon. Anything sharp and pointy would do. Suddenly, her eyes caught the sight of Sam's pillow on the floor.

_It's not sharp and pointy, but it'll do._

Grabbing the pillow, she was surprised at how hard and heavy it was. Without wasting another second, she heaved it at Dean, successfully smacking it into his face. As he woke and cried out in pain, she closed her eyes and relaxed heavily into the blankets, pretending to be asleep.

"Christ!" Dean swore. He blinked through watery eyes, trying to remember what happened. He had been halfway through removing Beclyn's shirt before a rock came and smashed into his nose, causing him to wake. It took a second for him to recognize his surroundings, but more than a minute for him to stop choking enough to hold his bleeding nose. Sharp pain clouded his mind as he tried to think straight. He realized that it was almost impossible for a rock to just appear out of nowhere in a bedroom and happen to accidentally fall on his face. He glanced around the bed, trying to avoid spilling blood over the sheets before something square and white caught his attention.

A pillow. And it wasn't his.

His gaze crossed the room to the two others sleeping. Beclyn had her eyes closed, her chest heaving slightly as she took deep, long breaths. One hand was just resting below her eyes while the other was clutching her pillow as if it were for support. Sam, on the other hand, looked like he was a dead cockroach, with his arms and legs sprawled out around him. His mouth was open and was omitting a husky drooling sound.

_No way can somebody sleep like that,_ Dean thought.

Dean then realized that Sam did not have a pillow. Dean's rage built as angry thoughts rushed to mind.

_Why the hell did he wake me up? Is it so Goddamn hard to poke me in the shoulder and say that I was snoring? It's okay when he sleeps but oh-no, when I sleep, he has to do some crazy thing like throw a frigging pillow at me. Good work, asshole._

Still thinking furiously, he stood and glowered at the sleeping form of his brother. He had to muster every form of self-control to stop himself from grabbing his pillow and whacking Sam over the head in vengeance. Instead, he slapped Sam's foot as he passed to enter the bathroom. He needed to clean up his bleeding nose then have a very, very cold shower.

Sam blinked away his slumber as bright morning light filled the bedroom. He stretched, then planted his feet on the ground, lifting himself from the bed. He caught sight of Beclyn still dozing on her mattress. Yawning casually, he exited the bedroom to find Dean hunched over the kitchen table, polishing his sword of a knife like an obsessed killer.

"G'morning," Sam muttered sleepily, dragging his feet to a chair.

Dean turned his head to furiously glare at Sam.

"Okay..." Sam said, raising an eyebrow. "Not a good morning..."

"Says the dumb-ass who woke me in the middle of the night," Dean hissed quietly.

Sam blinked, confused. "Dude, you feeling okay?"

"No, I am not feeling okay!" Dean whispered harshly as he stood abruptly and moved to help himself to a mug of coffee. Turning back with an empty cup, he clenched his teeth. "How many times have I told you, Sam? Never wake me up when I'm having one of my 'dreams'!"

Rubbing his temples, Sam tried to comprehend what his brother was trying to imply. He knew what Dean's code-word for 'dream' meant. Dean had been using it since he was old enough to walk, talk and think about girls.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked his brother, wondering why he was keeping his voice hushed.

"You trying to knock me out with your rock-pillow," Dean snapped, his voice barely audible. "What the hell were you trying to do? I wouldn't have minded a little tap on the shoulder or even a bit of a shout. You didn't need to make it hurt!"

Sam was about to tell his brother that he had no clue what he was going on about before another voice interrupted the two men. "How difficult is it to keep your frigging voices down when I'm trying to sleep?" Beclyn snapped loudly from the kitchen door.

"Good morning," Sam welcomed her, not expecting an answer before turning back to Dean. "Dude, I don't know what you're talking about. I was asleep all night. How could I have thrown something at you?"

Dean turned away, not meeting anyone's gaze as he hissed, "Just don't do it again."

"Do what again?" Beclyn asked, snatching the empty mug from his hands and filling it with coffee for herself.

"Sam knows."

"No, I don't!" Sam yelled as he defended himself. "You must've imagined it or something because I swear to God that I have not a clue what you're saying."

Beclyn watched as Dean's chest heaved murderously. She sipped her steaming cup of strong coffee casually while enjoying the dispute between the brothers. She hadn't thought that Dean would actually accuse Sam of throwing the pillow at him. If she had known, then she would have done something a lot worse to make the argument more worthwhile.

Dean suddenly stopped heaving and mumbled, "Just forget it."

"Good." Sam slumped further into his chair, feeling light-headed and confused.

_That's it? _Beclyn wondered_. That's all they're going to do? Yell at each other...? God, I was hoping they were going to knock each other out so I could make a run for it._

"Oh, Dean," Beclyn said, sipping her cup without the least hint of warning of what she was about to say. "If you start having sexual dreams in the middle of the night, I do prefer you to keep them to yourself."

Sam choked and almost fell off his chair. He coughed and glanced up to see Dean pale under the harsh kitchen light before stumbling to the table to sit. Beclyn gulped another mouth of her coffee before continuing in a calm, undeterred voice, "It's very difficult to sleep when you're thrashing around, moaning and groaning. Honestly, what do you think cold showers are for?"

It took every ounce of concentration for her not to crack up and begin laughing at Dean. The look glazed across his face was priceless. The ultimate 'Oh, my God. It all clicks now and I don't want it to'. Dean hunched in his chair, staring at the table top, feeling like he had just been kicked in the ribs.

"Oh, and another thing," Beclyn added as she crossed to stand behind him. She placed her hands on his shoulders, massaging them slightly in a mock show of tender love and care. "If you do have dreams, don't have them about me. I find it quite humiliating and disgusting, not to mention that it makes me want to throw up."

As if to prove her point, she removed her hands gracefully, turned and strutted into the bathroom. Sam swallowed cautiously and looked at Dean, wondering if it was so smart to have a knife on the table. If he had ever seen his brother terrified to the point of nausea, it was now.

"Uhh... Dean?" he asked quietly.

"Sam?" Dean mumbled, barely hearing himself over his rapid heartbeat.

"Yeah?" Sam answered, wondering if it were too harsh a gesture to laugh.

"Just shut up."

* * *

**Tell me, did you like it? Scream at me if you didn't. I would love to have some opinions. The more reviews I get, the quicker I update. **

**Time for my squee moment: OMG! OMG! OMG! HOW CUTE WAS SAM DRUNK IN PLAYTHINGS?! GORGEOUS, THAT'S WHAT! HAHAHAHAHA! I wanna hug him…**


	8. Chapter 8

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 8**

**Temulentus**

**Guess what! I have this chapter out earlier than planned! I guess it's because I've slacked off on the last chapters and spaced them out over a few months. So sorry about that! **

**Disclaimer: You know that I don't own it.**

**Warnings: I know that I placed this story into the genres of romance and horror. There will be horror and you've already seen a bit of romance – if you'd call it that… As for this chapter, just the normal swearing. Oh, and mentions of rape. Uhh… in the weirdest sense. **

**Hope you enjoy it! Please remember to review so that I can get the next chapter up sooner!**

* * *

For the rest of the day, Dean did not utter a word to Beclyn or Sam. After being humiliated, he wished he could crawl under a rock, die, then come back and destroy everything - especially the annoying bitch of a girl who hadn't even bothered apologizing for her rash decisions that morning.

Dean wished she would somehow wake up to the world and realize that it didn't revolve around her. Right now, she was silent, like she always was - except when she was throwing knives, chucking a rant or trying to castrate him.

_She's damn right that it's disgusting to have sexual dreams about her. Hell, there are millions of other candidates who would've fit the profile perfectly for a good time in bed. Why the hell did I pick _her

Not only was Beclyn having death rays thrown in her face, Sam was also becoming a target for Dean's hate. Even after all Beclyn had done, even after all the commotion she had caused Dean that morning, Sam still managed to find kind, considerate words to say to her.

_Always have to be on the sidelines, don't you, Sam?_ Dean thought maliciously. _You find someone like you and they are automatically your friend. Well, good luck with that. You'll find out soon enough that I was right about Beclyn all along._

"Dean?" Sam asked, concerned about the glowering expression on his sibling's face.

Sam hoped that Dean would pull over to a motel or something soon; they hadn't touched a scrap of food in the last five hours and it was really beginning to take effect. "Why don't we stop at a bar and pick up something to eat?" Sam suggested hopefully.

From the glare of pure hatred he received, he knew the answer was a firm negative.

"Beclyn, are you hungry?" Sam turned in his seat as he asked her. His only answer was a raised eyebrow before she returned to staring at objects flying past the window.

Why did she have to ignore him all the time? He was only trying to be nice. Maybe she had seen something in her vision - like a woman being run over or a man being stabbed to death. Sam couldn't even possibly think about all the scenarios of what had hit her mind. Whenever he had a vision, he would see the worst things, which even nightmares couldn't conjure. Another question that kept cropping up in his mind was if she was truly like him. If she was having visions like him, then wouldn't that make her psychic? Or even more important, could she have something to do with all the others, like him? He needed to know. It was tearing him apart inside.

"So... Beclyn," Sam said as he wet his lips. He had to word this properly or she would toss him aside without a second thought. "Do you have any brothers or sisters or..."

"No," Beclyn answered simply.

_Yes! As long as she's answering, then I have a clear chance of getting her to talk._

"Oh," he said casually, trying to act natural even though he was receiving cautious glances from his brother. "So what part of America do your parents live?"

Beclyn actually squirmed a little at this question. "They don't."

"So... They live--"

"They don't. They're dead." Beclyn stated.

Sam almost jumped in his seat. She had visions, her parents weren't alive... It just pointed to one conclusion. But something unnerved him. Beclyn didn't seem at all bothered by the fact that her parents weren't there for her anymore. Sam wondered if she felt any remorse at all.

"I'm sorry," Sam muttered, practiced sympathy dripping off his words. "It must have been awful. I mean, I know how horrible it is to lose someone you love--"

"Just spit it out," Beclyn snapped nastily. "Hurry up and ask me how they died so that I don't have to put up with your false concern."

Sam's jaw opened slightly.

_How did she know I was only asking to find out what happened--_

A wave of guilt washed over the youngest Winchester as he realized the extent of his actions. "I just wanted to know," Sam murmured, trying to redeem himself.

Beclyn raised a fingernail to her mouth, where she began to nibble anxiously. God, how did she ever get onto this topic? Oh, that's right. The brat brought it up. Her mind searched for an answer that didn't sound too suspicious about her parents' death. That is, if they really were dead. She didn't even know if they were. One less thing to worry about if they were. She just needed to find a believable answer...

Her mind settled upon yesterday. _The boy, the burning house, the demon in the tree, the large crowd..._

"A fire," Beclyn answered firmly.

Even Dean's eyebrows rose as the words sparked questions inside.

"A fire?" Sam muttered. It all fit together perfectly. "I'm so sorry, Bec. How old were you when it happened?"

"I was too young to remember." At least that bit was the truth.

"Hang on," Dean suddenly interrupted. It was the first thing he had said since that morning. "Are you telling me that your parents died in a fire when you were a kid?"

Beclyn's gaze narrowed suspiciously as she snapped, "What's it to you?"

"Oh, let me think," Dean started sarcastically. His patience was nil, his anger had reached its explosive point and he was as hungry as hell. "You just let these facts slip? I don't know what the hell your problem is, but only now do we find out that not only do you not have parents, but that they died in a fire? How can you not see the importance?!"

Her eyebrow skyrocketing, Beclyn wondered what the older hunter was talking about.

_Should have just said that they drowned,_ she told herself.

Suddenly, something caught the oldest hunter's attention, causing him to swerve slightly. Dean's gaze was firmly locked onto a pub on the side of the road, but that wasn't what interested him. Two _gorgeously hot_ chicks were entering the small building. Feeling as if his luck had quadrupled, he pulled into the parking lot and stopped the Impala.

"Uhh... Dean?" Sam asked, shocked at the sudden stop.

"I'm starved," Dean said simply, opening the door and climbing out. "I also need a beer and some local life to talk to."

Beclyn glared at him from the backseat. "Give me the keys," she ordered him. "I'm not staying here."

The thought of walking into a crowed bar petrified her. God knew how many demons or creatures were in there just ready to pounce at her.

"No such luck, sweetheart," Dean said, a cocky grin filling his features. "I told you, I want a drink and some grub. You got a problem with that then you stay in the car."

_He seriously has a death wish_, Beclyn thought furiously as the hunter pocketed the keys and strolled over to the pub entrance.

She looked at Sam, trying not to seem as if she were pleading with him to negotiate with his brother.

"Sorry, Beclyn," Sam apologized as he caught her gaze. "Dean always drives. Besides, we can't go anywhere without the keys."

The pub reeked of cigarettes and urine. However, apart from its shabby exterior, it didn't seem too intolerable. Beclyn made sure she didn't touch anything as she crossed to the back of the room and sat near an old duck-hunting trophy case. Sam followed her as Dean forged a different path, straight to the two girls he had seen before. They welcomed him with wide, white smiles and tiny tank-tops.

A barmaid with an impossibly low neckline stopped at their table with a small notepad clasped lightly in her perfectly manicured fingertips.

"What can I get ya's?" the young red-head asked in a strong Western accent.

"Just a beer, thanks," Sam said with a polite smile.

The girl smiled back and turned to Beclyn, her pen poised for writing her order. "What can I get ya, darl?"

_An understandable accent, some real nails and a support bra, but I think you'd need them more, you bimbo. _Beclyn thought nastily.

The barmaid kept looking at her, her smile slipping as the dark-haired customer remained silent.

"Just make that two beers," Sam answered hastily for himself and Beclyn. As the red-head nodded and sauntered to another table, Sam turned accusingly to Beclyn. "Why didn't you just answer her?" he asked.

"I only talk to people who have at least two IQ points to rub together," Beclyn answered but her sentence was interrupted as Dean laughed loudly at one of his companions' jokes. "Which makes me wonder why I've conversed with your brother."

Sam shook his head and relaxed in his chair. Suddenly, Dean turned, gave a short, dismissive wave to the girls then approached the table without a worry or care.

"This is great, ain't it? The bartender says that if we drink sixty bucks worth of booze then we get to stay in the hotel down the road for free," he said happily.

Beclyn threw him a dirty glare while Sam shrugged, not particularly caring.

"Oh, guys, come on!" Dean persisted. "This is as good as it gets. Booze, a good place to rest and hot chicks. What else could you want?"

Not bothering herself with an answer, Beclyn looked behind Dean to see his new companions staring from her to Dean and whispering savagely to each other.

"Think you'd better return to your sluts for the night," Beclyn told the oldest hunter. "They're turning a little green with envy."

Dean swiveled on the spot to see the brunettes grab their purses.

"Hey!" Dean called to them, following.

Watching as Dean tried to coax the girls back to their seats with suggestive smiles, Beclyn and Sam received their beers. Not long after, Dean trudged back over, his face scrunched into an angry snarl.

"Thanks a lot, Beclyn," he growled as he slumped into a chair.

Sipping her cold beverage, Beclyn's eyes narrowed skeptically. "For what?"

"For chasing off my company for the night. They said that they didn't want competition from you."

"If you're the prize, then they've won hands-down because I'm not competing."

Giving up, Dean hunched in his seat. He thought the night was going to be great but once again, Beclyn had ruined his moment of joy. At least they could still get free accommodation if they bought sixty dollars worth of alcohol.

"I _swears _I b-b-beat that guy hands-down," Dean said drunkenly as he stumbled into the hotel room.

"Yeah, that's great, Dean," Sam said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he supported his brother by the shoulders to keep him from falling over. "I'm glad that you think it's a huge success to drink over fifty-five dollars' worth of alcohol in one hour."

"It's _BRILLIANT_!" Dean exploded happily. He turned to Sam and poked him in the chest. "_Duude_, I don't care what nobody says, you could take on the Big Friendly Giant any day and still win by a thousand inches. I mean, that guy is a midget compared to you."

"That's nice, Dean," Sam said dismissively as he tried to sit his brother down with much difficulty. Sam abruptly cried out as Dean lurched forward and wrapped him in a huge, bone-crushing hug.

"_Sammy, Sam, Sammo, Samster_," Dean mumbled through giggles. "I _says _we go back to the pub and get you another beer. Honestly, dude, you don't drink _nuttin'_."

Ignoring Dean's drunken foolishness, Sam took off his brother's shoes and tossed them aside before practically dragging his brother to the master bedroom.

"Whoa, whoa," Dean protested as he tried to pull away. "I don't care how great you think you are. I am _sooo _not going to bed with you."

Sam rolled his eyes and ignored Beclyn's tsks of disapproval as he tried to shove Dean into the room.

"This is _raaaape_!" Dean yelled, squirming in his brother's grasp. "Somebody call 9-1-1! I'm being _raaaaped_!"

"I think someone's had too much to drink," Beclyn said with a sigh. Dean had drunk most of the sixty dollars' worth of alcohol himself, excluding Beclyn's and Sam's first - and only - beers.

"Shut up!" Dean roared at her from the bedroom. He shoved Sam away from him before stomping unsteadily out to face Beclyn. "I said shut up!"

It was a wonder how he could stand. He was swaying dangerously and his gaze was blurry. He tried to blink to clear his vision but only looked back at Beclyn to see two of her standing in front of him.

"Sam!" he cried out fearfully. "Sam, Beclyn's two people! There's _two _of her!"

Sam watched, unimpressed as Dean pointed at Beclyn and gaped. "Maybe she's a shapeshifter!" Dean continued, more awestruck than fearful. "Get me my gun! I'll shoot 'em!"

"The only thing you need is a nap," Sam said as he approached Dean.

"_NOOOO_!" Dean screamed as Sam grabbed his arm. "This ain't fair! I'm surrounded by a rapist and a shapeshifter!"

No longer concerned for his brother's stupidity, Sam yanked the hunter to the bedroom then shut the door before Dean could escape.

"Not that I care or anything," Beclyn said, "but will he be okay?"

"He'll be fine. He won't even remember it in the morning," Sam explained as Dean moaned incoherently from behind the closed door. "In fact, he'll probably be out cold in thirty seconds."

Suddenly, there was a loud ka-thunk as something hit the bedroom floor.

"Make that three," Beclyn corrected him.

It was about five in the morning when Sam woke in a cold sweat. He didn't know why he had woken. All he knew was that he was lying on the couch. Shaking his head, he tried to remember where he had fallen asleep last night. He thought he had fallen asleep in the bedroom - he remembered arguing with Beclyn about who had shotgunned the bed. Instead of troubling himself over things he couldn't understand this early in the morning, he decided to take a leak. Feeling as if he was drugged, Sam dragged his feet to the moldy bathroom beside the kitchen. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes while closing the door softly. Shuffling to the toilet while wondering how long he had slept, he unzipped his pants and tried to go about his usual business, when he suddenly stopped. Something was wrong. Something was _very_ wrong. He looked down and let out a loud, girly scream. Sam zipped his jeans that suddenly seemed too small for his clumsy, trembling hands. Feeling faint, he reached out to grab onto something stable. He found the towel rack and held onto it for dear life as if it were his only hope for survival. As he tried to regain his breath, he looked into the bathroom mirror, hoping that the situation was just some sick, twisted joke. Sam felt himself grow pale as he looked at the face in the mirror. To his horror, the face in the mirror paled too.

"_Dean..." _he croaked.

His tongue felt lodged in his throat. He was finding it difficult to breathe, let alone call for his brother. Giving himself a few moments to moisten the inside of his mouth with saliva, he finally screamed, "_DEAN!"_

"What the hell?" Dean mumbled groggily as he was rudely awakened by a shrill sound.

He tried to sit up but found it almost impossible, as his body was loose and lanky. Shaking his head to try and remember what he did last night, a clump of shaggy hair fell into his vision.

_Damn it, _he thought, _I need a haircut._

Finally managing to sit up, he rubbed his eyes and listened to the sound of someone frantically scrambling around in the bathroom. Standing, Dean placed one foot in front of the other and almost landed smack on his face as he tripped and fell.

_Whoa, how much did I drink last night?_

Groping around in the dark bedroom, he wondered why everything was jumbled. Somehow the window had managed to shift to the other side of the room during the night. Also, he couldn't remember the bed being so close to the door or his duffel bag being shoved upon the night-stand. Shuffling to what he thought was the door out of the bedroom, he found himself staring into a closet.

_What the hell did I do last night?_

"_Sam?" _Dean called out, choking due to the fact that his mouth felt like sandpaper. He knew the kid needed sleep but _God_; this was really starting to freak him out.

Suddenly, he heard someone scream his name from the bathroom.

"Goddamnit," Dean swore. "What the hell is Beclyn's problem now?"

* * *

**I hope that wasn't too awful. I really can't write drunk scenes and I only pictured Dean drunk. I wish I could have done Sam drunk. He's gorgeous when drunk. Heh. **

**Question: Are my chapters too short? Should I make them longer?**

**Please, please, please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**And so here I am again with random things to say. To think, I had this chapter done ages ago but I couldn't get my beta to beta it due to computer problems and the fact that I was busy with school stuff. Damn school.**

**A note to Kelnius: Thanks for the reviews! I couldn't contact you via email so I'm writing a small note to you here. Feel very special. Besides, you pointed out some really important things that I'd like to clarify. Yes, I know the 'older hunter, experienced hunter, younger hunter' thing can get annoying. It's just following on the theme of Supernatural instead of calling them by their names all the time. I agree that Beclyn seems to be taking the limelight when it comes to hunting things. Dean and Sam aren't entirely stupid - they have hunted a fair monster or two. Believe me; it's all adding up to a chapter with a twist. But I don't agree with you about the pretty rainbow of blood. Red is many colours. Besides, I can't make up my mind about which one sounds prettier - scarlet or crimson, so alas, I used both of them. Leave me alone -- backs away clasping rainbow -- _MY _rainbow of pretty blood. Also, describing things is important. It makes it a little interesting… Sorry if I'm wrong though… **

**And as for the last point of the latest review, I admit it. I think Jensen Ackles rocks. Jared Padalecki is also gorgeous. I don't think the WB completely bash them and cause them as much angst as what they should endure. So what's wrong if I step up the torture a notch? **

**Winchester brothers + blood happy me. **

**I also need to throw out a huge thanks to Emsyd and coldestkiss77 because they have been reviewing non-stop to my last couple of chapters. YOU GUYS ROCK!**

**Warning: Bit of swearing but nothing too horrible. There might be a scene or two which is not suitable for kids. By the way, the first bit is going to be VERY confusing. You've been warned.**

**Disclaimer: Once again, let me state that I do not own Supernatural. I do own Beclyn and anything you don't recognize... **

* * *

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 9**

**Confusus**

"Dean!" Sam yelled as he stumbled from the bathroom. "Oh, God... Oh, God..."

"Beclyn!" a voice suddenly called from the far bedroom.

Sam glanced up, wondering why the voice sounded so familiar, and froze, shocked to silence at what he saw. He would have screamed - or at least leapt onto the closest shotgun and fired like all hell at the person who suddenly appeared in the doorway - but his legs couldn't move.

Sam was staring straight at a figure that looked exactly like him.

"Oh, my God..." Sam whispered as he watched the approaching figure.

"For God's sakes, Beclyn," the other Sam hissed. "How many times do I have to tell you to keep your voice down while Sam's asleep?"

_Oh, God... Oh, God... This can't be happening... _Sam thought to himself as he tried to comprehend the situation. _This doesn't make sense! I'm here but I'm also over there... But then... Oh, my God..._

Sam licked his lips, trying to think. Something abruptly hit him full on.

"'B-Beclyn'...?" he stammered, watching as the other Sam glared back, his eyes narrowed in caution.

The other Sam ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I don't have time for chat," he said with a sigh from the doorway. "I've got to drive in a few hours and I really need the sleep--"

"_Dean_...?!" Sam gasped, not believing his eyes as the other Sam continued on with his rant.

The other Sam's eyes narrowed further, a firm expression of concern mixed with suspicion across his features. "What?"

"Dean, is that you?" Sam asked, taking a step forward to examine the figure.

"What are you - drunk?" the other Sam retaliated, taking a step back.

At one close glance, Sam could tell that the situation was more complicated than what he could handle. "Oh, God..." he began to cry out again.

It was too much. No way. No way could something like this _ever_ happen. It was impossible on all counts.

Dean's consciousness had somehow moved to Sam's body during the night...

_But then... Who am I?_ Sam asked himself.

- - -

_Too freaking early in the morning to handle stuff like this, _Dean thought to himself as he watched Beclyn stare at him - almost _examine_ him.

"You got a problem?" Dean asked sharply, trying to hide his nervousness. He didn't like Beclyn even looking at him, let alone treating him like an art exhibition.

"You even have the scar..." she mumbled numbly, feeling her eyebrow as if looking for something.

"I have what now?" Dean inquired as his eyebrows rose. "You'd better sit down. You're delusional."

He was expecting a blow across the face or a hideously snide remark but the girl continued to gape at him.

"Beclyn... You're starting to freak me out."

"You have no idea..." the girl answered, rubbing her temples to think.

"Look, Beclyn--"

"It's Sam."

Dean's mouth fell open an inch. He stared at the girl in front of him, not blinking or moving in any way. She sounded way too frightened to be Beclyn and she wasn't trying to kill him in some torturous way. Only then did the last statement from the girl knock him to his senses.

"What about Sam?"

The girl made an exasperated sound and gestured to herself by pointing to her chest. "It's Sam."

Wondering what the hell Beclyn was on, Dean shook his head and said, "What - did he have another vision? I thought he was asleep."

"I'm not asleep!" Beclyn yelled harshly. "I just woke up!"

"So what's the problem then?"

"It's me! As in - Sam! Me, Sam! You know...?"

The blank expression on Dean's face quite plainly stated that he did not. "Are you sure you're feeling--"

"I _am _Sam!" Beclyn suddenly roared.

Dean's eyebrow spiked as he stared at the shaking girl. For a second, he was almost a hundred percent sure that she had finally lost her sanity.

"I can prove it!" she - he - whatever the figure of Beclyn was - yelled. She reached forward and wrapped her hand in a tight grip around Dean's arm then shoved him into the bathroom. "You're me!" the figure of Beclyn pointed to the mirror.

Dean's jaw dropped as he gaped into the perfect image of his brother gaping back at him from the glass.

"Holy shit..." he muttered as he reached out and touched the cool, smooth surface of the mirror as if trying to break the illusion. Running his other hand through his now long, shaggy hair, Dean turned to the figure of Beclyn. "So you're not Beclyn?"

"It's _Sam_," Sam repeated, shaking his head.

Dean looked back at the mirror, feeling lost and confused. Then another question hit him.

"Sam, if you're here in Beclyn's body, then where's Beclyn?"

- - -

"_Farkin' 'ell_," Beclyn moaned, clutching her pounding head to try and stop the roaring jackhammer in her mind. "_My 'ead..."_

She rolled over in the bed, feeling heavy and ill. Her mouth tasted like something out of a toilet bowl with the texture of sandpaper.

"_Ooooh_..." she groaned as bile rose up through her throat.

If the enormous headache wasn't bad enough, she distinctly remembered being woken by two people outside the bedroom, roaring at each other. She couldn't quite zone into the screaming match due to the fact that she could barely hear herself think - on second thoughts, it hurt too much to think. In fact, it hurt too much to do anything.

_I'm gonna throw up,_ she realized, curling her arms around her stomach to try and calm the churning acids of her intestines.

She didn't want to be sick. She didn't want a headache. She didn't even know _how_ she'd burdened herself with these new feelings of excruciating torture but she didn't want to stay put so that she could make a mess of the already ruined carpet. Trying to stand, she placed both of her feet on the ground then heaved herself from the bed. Within a second, the World blurred and her face had met the ground with a very painful, heavy thud. "Mmmf," she mumbled. She couldn't remember ever being this sick before.

A couple of seconds later, she heard a door open and hesitant footsteps approach her side.

"Oh, jeez. Don't tell me that's Beclyn," she heard Sam's voice say.

"Must be. Here, let's help her up," a female voice said.

Beclyn felt a set of hands clasp her shoulders. She tried to shove them away with irritated swats of her uncoordinated arms.

"Go away..." she slurred as she managed to hit something. "Don't touch me..."

"Yep, that's Beclyn," Sam's voice sighed as he grabbed her roughly.

"Piss off," Beclyn yelled, trying to break free. "I feel like I'm gonna barf and you're the target so back off!"

"She has a hang over," the female voice explained anxiously. "Dean, she's sick because she has your hang over."

"Good," Sam's voice replied. "I'm glad it's her and not me."

After being dragged from the bedroom, Beclyn was tossed onto a musty, old couch. She groaned miserably and curled into a ball.

"Come on." A hand grabbed her wrist and heaved her from the couch. "You are not going to believe the shit we are in."

Beclyn was tugged across the room. Her feet almost slipped on the cold set of slippery tiles as she entered the bathroom.

"Look into the mirror," the blurry figure of the female told her.

Beclyn turned her head absently to stare at the glass. At first, she couldn't see anything. The World was tilting violently and all she could make out was a large dark figure looming back at her.

"What the hell...?" she muttered as the shape seemed to take form.

A man.

A swaying man was blinking tiredly back at her. The lines shaping the figure suddenly cleared and she realized it was Dean.

"Dean?" she asked, confused but mostly angry that she had been forced into the bathroom when she could be sleeping off whatever it was that was making her ill.

"Yeah?" Sam's voice answered.

Beclyn turned to look at Sam. He had his arms folded and was glaring at her as if she was some kind of bad smell.

"We came in here to show me your brother?" Beclyn hissed, not at all impressed.

"No, dumbass," he answered. "We came in here so that you can see yourself."

Eyes narrowing suspiciously at Sam's vulgarity, Beclyn turned back to the mirror. The shock was instant. Dean's head turned exactly the same time that she turned hers. Only she and Sam were standing in front of the mirror, but the reflection portrayed Sam and Dean.

From outside the bathroom, Beclyn heard approaching footsteps before a voice suddenly called, "Dean, have you showed Beclyn yet?"

The next second, the figure of Beclyn entered the bathroom, a glass of water and a packet of aspirin in her hands.

"It's Sam, by the way," the figure stated. "Dean's me and you're obviously him."

Beclyn stared at Sam from the mirror. Her eyes bulged at the frame of the girl who was meant to be Sam.

_Sam_ was _her_. _He_ was walking around with _her_ body.

Suddenly, her eyes darkened to something malicious, murderous and of the utmost fury.

"Uhh... Beclyn?" Sam asked, his voice quivering slightly as a fearful shiver tore through his nerves.

_"Give. Me. Back. My. Body," _Beclyn hissed through clenched teeth, her headache and queasy stomach forgotten as a pounding vein twitched dangerously on her temple.

Sam didn't have time to react as Beclyn suddenly pounced across the room onto him. Her now masculine hands easily held the small frame firm as she pinned him against the bathroom wall in a painfully tight grip.

"_Give me back my body," _Beclyn seethed.

"Wait, Beclyn!" Sam cried out, trying to defend himself in any way possible but was finding it difficult as he no longer had the build or the height to combat the furious attacker. He shrieked as Beclyn shoved him harder against the wall, almost shattering his bones.

"Beclyn, quit killin' him," Dean ordered her. "He's a girl now, so it's illegal for you to hurt him."

"Like you can talk!" Beclyn retorted loudly but then clutched her head as pain jolted through the senses. Her face darkened and scrunched as she hissed, "I have a frigging hangover because of _you_. Why did you have to drink so much?!"

Dean shook his head, not really caring. It was better that she had the after-effects of the night's drinking rather than him. At least she was still standing, not befriending the toilet seat like he always had to do.

"How did this happen?" Sam asked quietly, rubbing his arm from where Beclyn had smashed him into the wall. "There has to be some logical explanation for why we are like this..."

"Yeah, because people don't just switch bodies in the middle of the night," Dean added tartly.

"I reckon it was _you_," Beclyn accused Dean. "God knows what you were doing last night. You could barely stand, let alone know if you were chanting a voodoo curse or something!"

"_Exactly_," Dean snapped back. "I could barely stand, let alone have enough will power to read a damned curse."

"Then it was Sam!" Beclyn turned on the frame of the girl. "Psychic freak jinxed us!"

"I did not!" Sam tried to defend himself. He tucked a strand of dark hair behind his ear before he carefully explained, "I didn't do it. I couldn't have made us switch bodies. I'm not powerful enough to do that."

Beclyn made a snort and stormed into the small dining room, shoving him out of her path as she went. "This is crazy," she hissed. "Just let me get this straight. I'm in the body of Dean. Your body's currently inhabited by Dean, and you're me." Her eyes darkened once again as she muttered, "Of all the insane, whacked-up crap that I have to put up with..."

"If you hadn't noticed," Dean interrupted her, "me and Sam are also a bit out of place. It would be a big help if you stopped feeling so burdened and helped us out."

"It would be _so _much easier if I didn't have a frigging migraine!" Beclyn roared back at him. "What kind of an asshole drinks that much?!"

With a loud, frustrated sigh, she re-entered the bathroom and began to shove Dean out.

"Hey... HEY! What are you doing?" Dean yelled as he was aggressively pushed through the doorway.

"I have a headache, I'm pissed off, I feel like I'm going to throw up and I'm in a man's body. What do you think I'm gonna do?"

Sam's eyes widened as he stood next to the couch. "Beclyn, you're not going to have a shower, are you?"

Dean's eyes bulged. "The hell she is!" he roared. "That's _my_ body!" He scrambled to get to the door but Beclyn slammed it in his face.

"Too bad," Beclyn called from the other side of the door. "You shouldn't have drunk so much last night."

"You don't see me checking out Sam's body!" Dean protested savagely. "I'm not walking over to your body and groping you, am I? Why the hell should you do it to mine?!"

Sam turned away as a deep blush stained his pale cheeks. He didn't even want to contemplate the thought of his brother - or his own figure, for that matter - just walking up to him and suddenly feeling his chest.

When Beclyn didn't answer, Dean hissed then stormed away from the bathroom door. "She's gonna cut off my manhood," he groaned. "She's going to mutilate my body so that girls won't wanna look at me again. This is horrible..."

He tried to walk over to Sam for support but was just greeted with Sam taking an exaggerated step back and his arms fumbling to cover his chest well and fully.

"Don't even think about it," Sam warned dangerously.

- - -

The hot spray of water splashed onto Beclyn's muscled back as she relaxed under the stream from the shower. She had been very careful coming into the shower to not look down whatsoever. The idea of even being him made her feel ill to the point of losing her dinner. It was disgusting, foul, awful and unavoidable. Just reminding herself of what she was caused another wave of sickness.

She was Dean - a pompous, arrogant, pathetic excuse for a human being.

Not only that, but Sam was now stuck with her body. She didn't want to think about what men would do if they had breasts. She could just imagine Sam alone in the bedroom, happily groping _her_ breasts while screaming God-knows whose name.

_I'm going to be sick again,_ Beclyn told herself.

Facing down to hurl her stomach up, she caught sight of the part of Dean that she didn't want to see.

_God, no wonder he wants to show it off,_ she thought sarcastically_. If his ego is as big as his thing then I'm going to have to shoot him. It's only doing the World a favour._

Turning her head into the stream of water, she tried to think clearly without the persistent nagging of the migraine.

"What a nightmare," she muttered sourly. "I'm one of the Winchesters."

* * *

**I really hope that everyone is enjoying it so far because I've got a couple more twists and **

**tricks.**

**However, I'm feeling a little put-out after the last round of reviews I've received. Criticism is welcomed but just make sure the facts are straight. **

**People still like my story… right? Right…? – mopes silently --**

**R+R appreciated! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Let me start by saying that I'm sorry to the reviewers who reviewed but I didn't contact them back. The system was down so I didn't realize I had reviews until five days after I posted the chapter. This chapter was meant to be up some time a few days ago but my poor beta has been swimming in computer problems so I couldn't get the chapter edited on time. **

**I want to say a huge thank you to all the reviewers, you guys are better than awesome! I'm glad that some people sent me messages saying, "Dude! You've got to hurry up and post the next chapter already!" or else I'd still be sitting around thinking that no one's waiting for it. **

**I realized that for a few of my chapters the paragraphing has not been that great because I didn't realize how many spaces you had to put for it to make a new paragraph. I also realized that I put this story under romance and horror. Yes, there will be romance… Just let me pound the boys a bit first… and there will be some horror scenes which will be testing the rating in which I have classified this story under. Just a reminder that this story has almost all of the goodies out there which make parents scream such as violence, rape, suicidal themes, language and so on. You don't like it, let me know and I can see what I can do.**

**Disclaimer: If I could, I would keep the Winchesters. Since I can't, I have to make-do with fanfiction. If I did own them, they would spend most of the time tied to my bed or the kitchen table. Heh. **

**Warnings: There is a gross scene in this one, a bit of swearing but I think that's just about it. **

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 10**

**Adiumentum**

"The best thing we can do right now is to go and see an old friend of ours," Sam stated, trying to brush his long hair but only succeeding in tangling it hopelessly.

Beclyn had only been in the bathroom for ten minutes and the boys already had a plan. Good thing she didn't really care at the moment. Her hangover made sure of that.

Dean glanced up, knowing exactly what Sam meant. The only thing that worried him was that if whatever the thing was that changed them was close by. Travelling to Kansas was not a detour they could afford if the thing was waiting just outside.

"Who's this _'friend'_?" Beclyn asked cautiously. 'Friend' to the Winchesters could mean anything and she wasn't nearly accepting enough to just throw her life and body into a stranger's hands.

"Her name's Missouri," Sam explained. "She's good at this type of stuff. She's helped Dad out loads of times and she's the closest that we've had to a mother."

Almost three days after Mary's death, the boys had been driven to a strange yet welcoming house on the far side of Lawrence. John had ordered Dean to wait in the car with Sammy while he went inside. After many long, boring hours, an unfamiliar woman had come out to the car and knocked on the window to call the boys inside. Dean had been weary. He had a better mind to unbuckle Sammy from the baby chair and flee but the woman had a friendly smile and a coaxing voice. Once Dean had unbuckled Sammy and stepped out of the car with the six month-old baby clasped in his hands, the woman introduced herself as Missouri. She brought the boys inside and gave Dean mango-flavoured icy-poles (his favourite) while giving Sam a mashed banana to suck on. The house itself was amazing. It was filled with intriguing things like glass balls and herbs which made Dean's nose tickle. After getting to know the house and Missouri, John dropped the bombshell. For some unknown reason, John was leaving and he wasn't taking his boys with him. He told them that he wouldn't be gone for long - two days at the most. Dean hadn't known why his father was leaving him in a stranger's house right after his mummy had disappeared. Sam hadn't seemed to mind though. He was satisfied with gurgling happily on his soggy banana and waving his arms playfully.

During those two days, Missouri treated the boys as if they were her own. Dean liked Missouri but knew she had a firm tone on rules around her house. After the two days, John returned looking as tired as ever. He had wanted to speak with Missouri urgently and told Dean to wait in the kitchen. Whatever the adults had spoken about, it had been serious. Finally, John returned to his sons and packed their bags to go on what he called 'a small trip'. Dean had only had to look at Missouri to know that she deeply disagreed with John's choice. She offered many times for Dean and Sam to stay with her while John went on his trip. John had refused but as the boys grew, he always brought them back to Missouri for a few nights, letting her see how much they had grown. Through time, the boys had accepted her to be one of the most motherly figures of their childhood.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Dean said, hesitating on the thought. He knew that, not only could Missouri probably be a huge help, but they could ask her if she had seen John. But the distance was too far. It would take days to get to Missouri's house and another week to come back if they were wrong.

"Who's this 'Missouri' chick?" Beclyn inquired. She didn't want to sound too interested but the whole 'becoming a man' thing overnight left her with almost zilch options. Besides, she was willing to go with any decision as long as it was decided quickly and there wasn't much yelling involved. There was no way in the World her hangover would allow that at the moment.

"She's just someone we can trust," Dean explained. "She's brilliant at potions and spells and--"

_Whoa, wait a second, _Beclyn suddenly thought. _Spells? Potions? What is she - some kind of a--_

"She's a witch?!" Beclyn gaped, not believing her ears. She was hesitant enough on throwing her life at a human, let alone someone who was born to be evil.

"I don't think so. When we met her, she always called herself psychic and she always became angry when Dean or I tried to call her a witch." Sam gave up on the brush and instead tied his long hair into a ponytail. "It doesn't matter anyway. She's one of the best and she's all we've got."

"No. No way. I'm not doing this," Beclyn suddenly objected. Turning, she tried to stalk out of the room but Dean grabbed her arm in a tight grip.

"Hey, let go! What is wrong with you? There's no way I trust my life to a witch!"

"_Psychic. _She's a _psychic_. She's not going to hurt you. Just think about it as if it was Sam," Dean explained, trying to pull her back to her seat.

Beclyn threw one look at Sam as he tried to neaten the ponytail but only managed to get his hand caught in the thick, untamed strands of hair.

"Yeah... That's really making me feel better. Pretend that the witch is actually some circus freak who doesn't even know how to brush his own hair. God, Dean. I feel so safe now."

"Get over it," Dean retaliated harshly. "I'll give her a call and say that we're just coming to drop in for a visit. Sit here and be quiet."

"You can't make me."

"I can and I will," Dean told her, letting go of her arm to pick up his cell phone. "She'll love to see us. I'll just tell her that we're bringing along a friend. She won't know the difference."

"Yeah, that sounds perfectly fine," Beclyn said sarcastically. "I'm sure your witch will be glad to hear that you've managed to kidnap a stranger and turn your brother into a girl."

Dean shrugged as he punched a number into the phone. "What she doesn't know won't kill her."

"Dean, you're not going to lie to Missouri, are you?" Sam asked suspiciously.

Throwing Sam a frown, Dean lifted the phone to his ear. "Dude, if lying meant saving my life from her, then yes - I would rather tell her that it's a family visit. She's still pissed at me from the time I kicked my football into her rosebush when I was ten. The football had more damage than the damn plant! Now shut up, I have to try and be you," Dean explained viciously before suddenly he lifted a finger to his lips to signal for silence. "Hey, Missouri!" Dean greeted warmly as a person answered on the other end of the line. "Yeah, it's Sam... Yeah, I know it's been a while... Yeah, yeah, college was great, the exams were easy and the chicks were hot - it couldn't get much better. Nah, nah, I don't blame Dean for dragging me away... No, serious. It was for old times, you know?"

"He really knows what he's doing," Beclyn muttered sarcastically. "By the way, Sam, he depicts you so well. I guess stupidity runs in the family."

Sam threw her a wry look as Dean finally said, "Hey, yeah, you know what? How would it sound if we could drop in for a while? ...Oh, you know... Just for a nice chat? No, we are not in trouble..."

Dean rolled his eyes at the voice on the other end of the line grew loud and snappy. "No, I swear, Missouri! What's wrong with just wanting to come and see one of our most loved family friends? ... No, I am not sucking up!"

Finally, Dean let out a sigh and said, "Okay. See you in a few days. Bye."

"That went well," Sam said, raising an eyebrow. "Did she seriously think you were me?"

"Damn straight she did," Dean said as he flashed a childish grin. His grin was replaced with an absent-minded hand gesture as he said, "Oh, yeah, I think you'd better be careful when we go to see her. She was yelling at me about phone etiquette and crap. She also scolded me for calling college girls hot - but come on, have you seen some of them? Perfect curves, great smiles, fabulous faces, dominatrix mentalities--"

"Oh, come on, Dean!" Sam snapped. "You would do a five year course and work your butt off for a scholarship just to see some girls in a classroom? They're not really like the uniformed strippers that you're used to."

"Still hot though," Dean pointed out. "Jess looked alright." Swishing around to look at Beclyn he explained, "After breaking into Sam's apartment, she turned on the light and I swear, she was angel in that Smurf shirt and those tiny shorts. She had that innocent look with that slightly devilish--"

"Wish I'd never asked," Beclyn muttered snidely.

"Aww... You're only like that because you're not as hot as she was."

Rolling her eyes and instantly regretting it as the World lurched from one side of the room to the other, Beclyn caught sight of Sam. He was silently gazing at the floor, looking lost and lovesick.

_Kid must've had it rough when she died, _Beclyn reminded herself. _Going through all this time... Thinking that it was his fault that she's dead. He just wasn't quick enough to save her. What a lost cause._

Instead of dawdling on Sam's depression, Beclyn decided to fill in time by asking questions."So now that we've accomplished the fact that we're well and truly going to hand our lives over to a witch, how long will it take for us to get there?"

"A few days," Dean answered as he walked from the bedrooms to the couch, carrying assorted items to be packed away so that they could leave. "I'm thinking four - tops."

"Great," Beclyn murmured, desperately wishing she had another option than to travel with a hangover.

The only other thing she wished she didn't have to do was visit someone she knew she would have every urge to kill.

_After all, no witch is ever truly innocent. _

- - -

"Turn left on Applebury then make a right on Sagus before turning onto the highway," Sam directed from the backseat. The oversized map was centred on his legs but it still took up most of the backseat. He tried to trace the black line marking the road they were currently following but as the car went over a bump, he slipped and lost his place. "Dean, this would be so much easier if I was sitting in the front and I had the dashboard to lean on."

"No can do, little bro," Dean said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the old rock song blasting from the radio. "Only men and manly girls can sit in the front seat."

"You're so funny," Beclyn growled at him, fighting the urge to bash his brains out with the exhaust pipe. Her patience was nearing its end. Sam had been complaining about sitting in the backseat ever since they had started driving, and Dean had replayed the same song since Beclyn told him that his taste in music belonged in a retirement home. Even though her stomach had settled enough for her to not have to worry about vomiting over the upholstery (Dean had made sure that she hadn't even taken a step towards the car until she had doped herself up with enough medication to supply a hospital), her skull was pounding as hard as ever and she felt that being in a room with screaming children would have been more peaceful.

"Do we have to listen to the same song over, and over, and over?" Beclyn glared at Dean.

"This isn't just the same song," Dean told her, enjoying watching Beclyn squirm in her seat and rub her temples. "This is classical rock! It's the one and only genre of music to listen to while on the road."

"What are you - a walking advertisement?"

Dean rolled his eyes, knowing that she wouldn't understand the complexity of such superior music. Nothing could beat ACDC or Metallica or anything of that era.

"Hey, Sam, where's the next take-out place? I'm starved," Dean asked the figure in the backseat while head-banging the rhythm of the song.

After scrambling around for a few seconds, Sam found an old tourist route which linked to most of the food stores in the area. "Uhh... A little up ahead. But it's just a convenient store."

"Damn," Dean swore. "You're telling me that this is tourist county and there's not even a decent bar or restaurant?"

"I can duck in and grab us a couple of cokes and some chips," Sam volunteered. "By the way, the shop is on your next right."

Turning onto the desolate road, Dean quickly found the convenient store and pulled into the parking lot.

"Right. Beclyn and I will stay here. You go in and grab the grub," Dean ordered Sam.

Sam nodded then opened the door to climb out.

Once Sam was halfway across the parking lot, Beclyn turned and hissed at Dean, "Beclyn and I will not stay here. Beclyn needs some fresh air after driving in a cramped, musty car for the last three hours and she needs to stand up to relieve some of the headache which an asshole gave her because he was--"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered. "I get the gist. Besides, what's with the third person statements?"

Beclyn opened her door then stretched uneasily before leaning against the car.

"You have to be talking in third person when you're standing beside a car, watching yourself walk away."

Dean shrugged then came around to her side, worried that she may dint the car accidentally - or more likely, on purpose.

He watched Sam walk up to the sliding doors. Sam was obviously not too comfortable about the body he was in.

_To think, _Dean thought smugly, _I actually saw that body almost naked a couple of nights ago._

The thought itself didn't seem too disturbing to him; in fact, it had brought on a very pleasant dream until Beclyn had whacked him over the head with a rock-pillow.

Dean's eyes gazed over the dark hair before residing on the slim hips which were moving much too stiffly for an ordinary girl - easily explained since the person occupying it was not usually female. An amused smile flickered over his lips as he remembered Beclyn leaning across his chest a few nights ago, her breasts almost touching his skin. He pictured her creamy thighs in the moonlight with her trying to cover the flesh. He admitted that Beclyn could be annoying but with a body like that, she could afford to be.

Before Dean knew it, he was watching the figure quite closely, admiring the seductive curves and perfect skin.

"... so, I'm just telling you now that if this witchy chick pulls anything suspicious then I'm going to retaliate, alright?" Beclyn finished warning Dean. She waited for a second, preparing herself for an onslaught of Dean's swearing and insults but was surprised when there wasn't an answer. Beclyn turned to him slightly, wondering what the hell he was watching so furtively. All she saw was him watching Sam - or more truthfully - her body walk into the store.

Beclyn's eyes darted suspiciously from Dean's gaze to its target. Suddenly, it dawned on her on what he was doing.

_Oh, hell no. That's just disgusting!_

"You mind?" Beclyn snapped sharply, her teeth grinding together to try to keep herself from blushing.

Dean turned absent-mindedly to her, his attention drifting back. "Do I mind what?"

"Don't give me that. You were just checkin' me out!" Beclyn accused in a shrill voice.

His head turning slightly to throw her a lopsided grin, Dean said, "It's great, eh? I can check you out without actually knowing that it's _you_ I'm checking out."

"So you'd much rather prefer the fact that you're actually checking out your brother."

"It may be my brother but it ain't his body."

Fury firing through her veins, Beclyn glowered at the undisturbed man. He didn't even care that she found the situation nauseating and highly uncomfortable. From the corner of her eye, she saw a pair of prude, old women with wispy grey hair, gossiping in whispers at a nearby park bench.

"So... You like me?" Beclyn said, just loud enough to catch the women's attention.

Dean raised an eyebrow and retaliated, "Nah. You're not that lucky. You need brains for me to like you."

Trying to keep her voice firm and dismissive, Beclyn continued, "We've been living together – what – how long? You could have just told me that you liked me."

The two women glanced up and whispered to one another, excited upon finding a scene ready to play out in front of them.

"Okay, firstly, I don't like you," Dean said quickly, nervous all of a sudden for some reason. "Besides, I can go out and get any girl I want."

Beclyn noticed that he still had his eye on her figure through the convenient store glass.

_What a pig,_ she snarled to herself. _I'm right here and he knows that I'm watching him check out my body._

An idea hit her abruptly. It was so cruel. So mean. So... wonderfully awful.

"With lips like mine, you'd probably want to kiss them," she said lightly with a simple gesture.

"With lips like yours," Dean smirked as his gaze refused to turn away from the dark-haired brunette on the other side of the glass to look at his annoying companion, "it's all they're good for."

Suddenly, Beclyn swivelled around and grabbed the back of his head. Before Dean could react, his lips had made contact with hers - or more specifically, his.

His eyes bulged as Beclyn continued the passionate kiss, lengthening it to a painful torture. He felt the lips moving over his, tasting the soft flesh, nibbling at the pink skin, very slowly savouring the moment of--

Dean lurched back, shoving her off as hard as he could. His eyes bulged. His breath choked out in rapid heaves as he stared at her, shocked at what she had just done.

"What the hell was that?!" he yelled, not knowing what else he could do.

"That was you kissing me," Beclyn said with a shrug. "You said you wanted to so I gave you the chance. Did you like it, big boy?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Disgusting!" he roared. "Foul! Gross! How could you do that?! You were standing right there and then I was standing here and then you... _YUCK_!"

His stomach turned and he swore for a second that he was going to lose his lunch, despite the fact that he had been hungry only a few minutes ago.

"Oh, how cruel!" Beclyn cried out in a girly voice as her eyes suddenly filled with melodramatic tears. "How could you say that to me? After everything we've been through! You even tried to share the bed with me - and you've seen me half naked! How could you do this to me? I thought you liked me!"

"What the hell is wrong with _you_?!" Dean snarled, viciousness radiating off every word. "And can you keep your voice down? People can hear us!"

_Precisely, _Beclyn thought smugly as she suddenly heard the loud stomps of footsteps behind her.

Dean's glare morphed into a horrified expression as the two elderly ladies who were sitting in the park marched straight up to him.

"You there!" one of them called out, her voice sounding like a cat's wail. "You have such a nerve to break this young man's heart!"

"I told you, Margaret!" the other said in a high-pitched squeal. "Men have no respect for lovers!"

If he had been embarrassed before, Dean was humiliated now. He just hoped that his cheeks weren't revealing it. "You don't understand--" he started nervously, wishing that the ground would hurry up and swallow him whole. Hell, the demon would have been friendlier than these old coots.

"He's even rude enough to claim that we are incapable of thinking!" the first screamed.

"Well, I never!" the second chimed in. "My son would never talk to me like that! I would be appalled if he ever spoke to anyone with such vulgarity!"

"Come, Liola!" the first ordered, her nose raised and prim. "We shall leave this delinquent immediately! He is not worthy of our words!"

The two women suddenly turned and scuttled off, whispering harsh words such as, "No respect... Homosexuality these days... How dreadful..."

"It's not my fault!" Dean called out after them. "He's a she! She had no right to kiss me! I was actually kissing myself! If my brother were to come out and find me kissing him then he'd be--"

He stopped when he heard a smirk behind him. He turned with a murderous gleam in his eye to find that Beclyn had a sneer pasted across her face, enjoying her vengeful scheme.

"You little--" he started but stopped when he heard approaching footsteps.

_Oh, God, _he thought frantically._ The old bats have come to finish me off!_

He cried out as a slim finger poked him in the back. He swished around to find Sam standing behind him, three bags of corn chips clasped in his grip as he juggled a couple of bottles of soft drink. "Sorry I'm late," Sam apologized breathlessly. "The store clerk tried to chat me up then he tried to ask me out to dinner and I had to try and convince him that I actually was running late before he let me go."

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw Beclyn still grinning in what he considered to be a moronic gesture of stupidity. He threw her a threatening look that said '_if-you-even-dare-tell-Sam-what-just-happened-then-a-hangover-is-going-to-be-the-least-of-your-problems'_.

"Well," Beclyn sighed, feeling slightly lost now that her adventurous streak had toned down. "We may as well get going."

Just one look at Dean made her wish that the old prim and proper cows would come back and sacrifice him to their lawn bowls gang. Sam, however, looked quite confused about the death rays being cast from Dean to Beclyn and back again.

"Is something wrong?" he asked cautiously.

_Phew, _Dean thought. _He didn't see us._

"No," Dean answered, trying to make himself seem utterly composed. "Get in the car. We're leaving."

**So... You liked it, you hated it, you wanna shoot me? Let me know. I love reviews and I try to contact everyone back. I'll try and get the next chapter out ASAP because you guys waited so long for this chapter. Also, if you see any mistakes with the grammar or spelling, please let me know. Half of the time, I don't even know they're mistakes. **

**P.S: Reviewers get a cookie --grins--**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks for the reviews! I'm trying to be good and reading back over my work to look for silly mistakes. I've found quite a few so far. My apologies! I'm trying to get my chapters up as soon as possible but now I have assignments as well. **

**Disclaimer: You know.**

**Warnings: Swearing and Sam chucking a spaz. Nothing new.**

**Deadly Betrayal **

**Chapter 11**

**Ira**

"_You... Never... Do... That... Again_," Dean hissed through clenched teeth for the twenty-fifth time that afternoon. He applied another thick layer of mint toothpaste to his toothbrush then began to clean his teeth frantically as if trying to rid himself of a lethal plague.

"You enjoyed it," Beclyn said with a sigh. She was leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom. Since she had nothing better to do, she decided that paying out the oldest Winchester was worthwhile.

"I did not!" Dean objected angrily, paste flying from his mouth. "It was narcissism at the worst level!"

"Good thing you're in love with yourself. I think you liked the feeling of having your mouth over your own lips."

Dean choked for a second before turning to glare at her. "You never do that again."

"What are you going to do - kill me? You can't touch me while I'm in this body or else there's a good chance that you won't be getting it back. Besides, just admit it. You liked--"

"What if someone we knew saw us?" Dean argued. "We wouldn't be able to live it down. Or even worse, what if Dad had been there to see us? Could you just think about that for one second? It would kill him to see his sons doing... _that_."

"I think it would turn him on," Beclyn said with a shrug. "You can't spell 'Winchester' without the 'I-N-C-E-S-T'."

"Piss off," Dean ordered sharply.

"You'll never look at yourself in the mirror the same way again."

"Piss off."

"To think you were kissing your own--"

With an angry lurch, Dean twisted around to face her menacingly. "Didn't you hear me?!" he roared. "_Piss off_!"

From the kitchen, Sam was hearing every word of their argument. He felt left out that no one had bothered to tell _him _what the huge quarrel was over. All he knew was that it was something that was highly disgusting and pride-threatening to Dean. But then again, when it came to Beclyn tormenting Dean, everything was pride-threatening to him.

Crossing his legs as he sat, Sam was slightly amused that he could actually sit cross-legged without wincing in pain. The position itself wasn't too uncomfortable. Glad for a second of the one and only thing he had found useful about being a girl, he soon slid back into depression. He felt like he was on an emotional rollercoaster. The moment he found something good, he had to contradict himself and be depressed again. Suddenly, for no reason at all, he felt angry. Not just pissed off, but _pick-up-a-chair-with-one-hand-and-throw-it-with-all-his-might_ angry.

_Stupid dark and evil, _Sam yelled inwardly. _Where has the dark ever got us? Not once has it ever done anything good! I'm so sick and tired of it!_

He wondered if it was worthwhile picking up a glass and smashing it in his tight grasp. It would make him feel better, not to mention causing a minor destruction which was always worthwhile--

"Sam!" Dean called from the bathroom, his tone sharp and annoyed. "Go and grab us some dinner, will ya?"

_GO AND GRAB YOUR OWN DAMN MEAL! _Sam screamed in his mind.

And with that one thought, Sam snapped.

"No." The youngest brother shook his head savagely. "No. No. Just no."

Dean entered the kitchen, his hair wrapped in a towel as he pulled on one of Sam's flimsy jackets. He wished he had his authentic leather jacket but he was afraid of tearing the seams. "Dude, what's up with you?"

Sam looked down, purposely avoiding eye-contact with his brother.

_Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me. _

Dean watched intently as the female figure seemed to curl up on the seat, closing off every form of communication. Beclyn, who had removed herself from her position in the bathroom, strolled in and took a seat next to Sam, ignoring his crammed posture.

"Oh, come on, Sam," Dean said as he shook his head, letting the towel fall loose. "Stop acting like a sook."

"Shut the hell up!" suddenly Sam yelled. He jolted from his seat, knocking it backwards. The crash startled Dean as Sam stormed to the other side of the room then began taking deep breaths. Abruptly, he turned and glowered at his brother, hate and anger welling up in the pit of his stomach. Feeling as if he had suddenly gained a weight of tension, Sam crossed the room then returned to his spot. He fanned his face - a trick he had seen girls do when they were upset or hysterical, not that he was hysterical or anything... He just wanted to pound his brother's face to a pulp and make him feel a lifetime of pain while screaming obscenities and throwing things across the room. Not hysterical... Right?

Dean's expression became blank as Sam stalked the room, his hands waving wildly.

Beclyn's eyebrows rose as he began to mumble incoherent words.

"Sam...?" Dean asked, wondering if it would be safer to leap in front of racing traffic. He had _never _seen his brother this upset or temperamental.

"What?" Sam asked softly, his head snapping up abruptly to catch Dean's gaze.

Tears shone in the deep blue eyes, threatening to spill over the reddening cheeks. Almost instantly, Dean felt he was in over his head.

Trying to reach out for help, Dean turned to Beclyn as she balanced on the back legs of the rickety chair. "Beclyn, care to shine some light on this situation?" Dean half growled at her.

She answered with a dismissive shrug. "Hmm..." she said, her tone clearly stating that she didn't care or wanted to get involved.

"Why do you always do this?!" suddenly Sam accused Dean.

Beclyn's attention snapped back to the furious not-so-female girl in an instant.

_This is getting interesting, _she thought absent-mindedly.

Dean was more reluctant to turn back to his brother. Sam must've lost his sanity the same time he switched bodies and lost his--

"You _always_ ask everybody about how I'm feeling except for _me_! Why can't you just ask _me_ how _I_ feel? It's always you, you, you. Whenever it's me, you tell me that things will get better. You don't really care how _I_ feel, do you? When you feel upset, you have to go all silent and stupid but why can't you see that I just want to talk to you?"

Tears spilt over Sam's cheeks as he screamed at his older brother. "Why can't you just accept me for what I am instead of hating me all the time?!"

Dean's mouth became dry as he tried to point out a few facts. He didn't hate Sammy no matter what he said. Actually, what _had _he said to bring on this wave of accusation?

"And then there comes the hunting!" Sam was blubbering now, his words barely audible over his frantic sobs. "You never take my ideas. You think that just because you've stayed with Dad longer, it automatically makes you better. Is that what you want to be? You want to be Daddy's little man and take on the big things in life? I _tried _to take on the big things - I _tried _to go to college, I _tried _to have a stable relationship without the fear of my family getting involved, I _tried _to keep my marks as high as possible so that I wouldn't have to deal with you or Dad again!"

Wiping his tears furiously with one hand, Sam tried to continue but his voice was choked with emotion.

Dean tried to comfort him while he had the chance, keeping as far away from the firing line as possible by standing against the wall. "Sammy, it's okay... Stop crying..."

"_I'M NOT CRYING!_" Sam shrieked hysterically as a sob erupted from his throat. "And it's _SAM!_ Not _Sammy_, _Sam-mo_, _Samster_ or any of the other crap you come up with to make my life even more miserable than it already is!"

Trying not to seem afraid, Dean cooed, "Look, this is just a big misunderstanding. In fact, I think you're just tired and a little bit upset about this whole body switching thing--"

"_IF YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED, I'M A GIRL!" _Sam half screamed, half blubbered. _"NORMAL GUYS DON'T BECOME FEMALE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, DEAN_!"

"I get that, but--"

"No, you don't! You've never understood. What about the time when I fell out of that tree, Dean? You didn't comfort me then! You actually _laughed_ at me. You said that I'd never be able to walk again as I was lying on the ground, crying out in pain. What about a _hug_? What about an '_it's okay, Sam. I'll always be here for you.'_? Oh, wait! You didn't do that anyway when I went to college. You agreed with Dad and said that I may as well stay with you guys because I wasn't good enough for school."

"That's not true!" Dean protested. "You were seven when you fell out of that tree and I gave you a band aid, didn't I? I only said that you wouldn't be able to walk again to cheer you up. Besides, Dad and I never said that you weren't good enough to go to school, we just said that we needed you around to help us kill what murdered Mum!"

"_BULLSHIT_!" Sam retaliated with a scream which was loud and shrill enough to crack even the thickest glass.

Dean visibly paled as Sam then let out a loud wail and crammed his hands over his face to hide himself.

"_I_-" Sob. "-_just wanna_-" Sob. "-_be normal!_"

As Sam cried like a baby and Dean cowered like an ashamed child, Beclyn shrugged, unfazed. Looking out of the nearby window, she saw passing pedestrians casting curious glances towards the motel room. "Guys," she whispered loudly, "can you turn it down a notch? People are starting to notice..."

Dean's gaze snapped to Beclyn as she turned back to face the boys. "I'm so glad that you're enjoying the show," he said sarcastically. "Why don't you get off your ass and help me out a bit here?"

"No, I think you're handling it perfectly from where I'm sitting. I've never seen Sam be so open with himself."

"Guys aren't meant to be this open! You've done something to him, haven't you? You've destroyed his sanity somehow!"

"I shouldn't have to deal with it. It's your brother's self-esteem."

"_It's your body_!"

A loud snorting sob brought Dean's attention back to his emotional brother.

"You're doing it again!" Sam cried, his hands sticky and wet with tears. "You're asking everybody else about my feelings. I can't believe you're asking _Beclyn!_ Why can't I be myself? I want Jess back! I want Mum back! I want Dad to come home! Jess was the only person who ever understood me and I want Mum to love me and I want Dad to be here to say that it's all okay."

"Since when did Dad ever say anything was okay?" Dean pointed out, instantly regretting it as Sam burst into a round of quivering, unhealthy-sounding sobs.

"That's right, Dean," Beclyn groaned. "Contradict the suicidal."

"Sam's not suicidal!"

"I would be if I had to put up with you all day."

"_SHUT UP!" _Sam screamed in a high-pitched voice. His lip quivered violently for a second before he lurched into the bedroom, shoving Dean from his path as he went. As the door slammed behind him, Dean blinked, confused.

"What the hell was that all about?" he asked himself.

"Wow," Beclyn mused. She had to admit, she never would have thought that a guy would be so... Girly. "That was the worst case of PMS I have ever seen."

Dean's gaze shot to her face. "Pee-em-- what now?"

"P-M-S." Beclyn sighed exasperatedly. "It's a thing girls get before they're due. I've never seen one that emotional, though. But, hey, I firmly believe that Sam was a girl all along."

"Will he be okay?" Dean glanced back towards the door. This Pee-em-es thing didn't sound too cheery and the 'due' bit made Sam sound like he was about to reach an expiry date.

"He'll be fine." Beclyn shrugged, stretching the tense muscles in her shoulders. "Unless he finds a sharp or pointy object. In that case, we're screwed."

Dean's eyes widened. Anything that could hurt Sammy, including himself, had to be stopped. Tramping to the closed door, he rapped on it with his knuckles.

"Go away..." a sniffing voice called.

"Sammy, come out here for a second," Dean tried to coax his brother from the locked room.

Dean felt a lump of tension grow in his throat as there was no reply.

"Sam, please stop crying..."

_"I'M NOT CRYING!" _Sam wailed from the other side of the door.

Panicking, Dean tried to reason with himself. Dean had never seen Sam this upset, he had barely seen Sam cry before, and sharp or pointy objects were now the biggest threat to all of the inhabitants in the motel room. Slightly knocking on the door, Dean whispered softly, "Come on, Sam. I'm sorry about all of this. Why don't you come out and we can talk about it, okay?"

"I don't know what's wrong with me..." Sam cried quietly. Dean had to press his ear against the door to hear the almost silent sobs. "I mean... I just... I'm so tired of just travelling and dealing with crappy problems all of the time. Can't we take a break? I just want to sleep..."

"Yeah, dude," Dean said with a considerate smile. "I understand how you feel. We're going to take a break after we destroy this thing that made us change bodies, I promise. So come on out. Maybe I'll even go get us a treat..."

Almost a second later, the door swung open and a red-faced Sam stood in the doorway, his eyes bloodshot. "I just... I just..." he tried to explain himself but Dean silenced him when he wrapped an arm around his frail shoulders and led him to the kitchen table.

"It's okay, Sam," Dean told the quivering figure. "You just sit here while I go and grab us a the treat from the car."

And with that, he rushed outside, leaving an embarrassed Sam and a bored-looking Beclyn in the motel room. Fidgeting with his thumbs nervously, Sam trained his eyes on a dark spot on the table and whispered, "Sorry for making a scene..."

Giving somewhat of a dismissive snort and a slight shrug, Beclyn watched him carefully, wondering if Dean had left her in the room with him alone so that he would take his frustration out on her.

"I mean... I was just angry and I guess I had to take it out on something and--"

"Ta-da!" Dean suddenly exclaimed from the front door. He charged into the room and slapped a half-empty bag of M&M's on the table. "I told you I had a treat."

"Thanks..." Sam said with an emotional sniffle. He really was not used to the whole 'crying' thing. Besides, he didn't have the heart to tell Dean that M&M's weren't really a treat when they were served as a main meal every time they were travelling interstate.

Beclyn's eyes narrowed at the small pearls of colour as Sam grabbed a handful and began to munch. She tried to imagine what it would taste like, chewing on the candy, letting the sweet taste saturate her senses. Her eyes glazed as she tried to reach for a memory, wondering if she had ever tasted something like it.

Dean raised an eyebrow as he watched Beclyn drift off into her imagination. "You want some?" he asked, instantly waking her from her daydream.

"No," Beclyn snapped, furious at being woken but also angry at herself for lowering her guard.

"Come on," Dean said with a persistent edge. "It's just sugary, fatty, salty, unhealthy goodness." He shoved the bag under her nose and smirked as her eyes followed his every move. She wanted M&M's and he knew it.

"I can't." Beclyn shrugged her shoulders dismissively, trying to seem occupied with something out the window. "I had a reaction last time I ate it."

Instantly Sam dropped the candy he was holding while trying to stop from choking. "Your body has a reaction to chocolate and you wait to tell me until _after_ I eat it?!" he spluttered. "Whatever you're allergic to, I'm now allergic to!"

"Don't be stupid," Beclyn hissed at him, still unsuccessfully trying to ignore the chocolate in front of her face. "If you were allergic to it then you would have known it by now."

Dean turned to Sam who was suddenly very cautious about taking another mouthful of the junk food. "If you were allergic to it then what was the reaction?" he inquired, quite firmly believing that she was making up the whole excuse just to avoid eating anything he tried to feed her.

Beclyn sat forward in the chair, remembering her experience from four and a half years ago. She hadn't been eating M it had been a different type of junk food which she had shoplifted from a small corner store but the effect was still the same. Almost three seconds after chewing down on the chocolate bar, her throat felt like it had erupted into flame and she couldn't breathe. Spluttering, she had fallen to the ground and choked most of the air from her lungs before vomiting the contents onto the cement of the desolate parking lot. She considered herself lucky for not screaming for help or else someone may have come running - which would have been far worse given her situation of trying to seem inconspicuous. The experience itself had not been pleasant and had almost taken her life.

"It's obviously not effecting your body, and I know for a fact that Sam and I aren't allergic to chocolate," Dean continued to tempt her.

Knowing that she had run out of excuses Beclyn sniffed irritably and grabbed a handful of the candy. Taking a deep breath, she told herself that it would only take one mouthful to make him shut up and leave her alone. Scrunching her eyes, she plunged the pieces into her mouth and urged herself to chew quickly so that it would be done and over with. The texture was foul and gritty, something like a crunched beetle. She expected the taste to be just as bad, maybe like a clumpy piece of dirt, but then it hit her - the luxurious, creamy, smooth, delightful taste of something which should _never _be shared.

It tasted so good, so delicious, so...

She surprised the brothers when she plunged her hand back into the crinkled bag for more. Sam's eyes widened in shock as she stuffed as many as she could into her mouth and chewed hungrily like a shark devouring a stray chunk of meat. For a second, all he saw was his brother's body stuffing himself like he did on many occasions but then remembered that this was _Beclyn - _the person who _never_ indulged on _anything_.

"Slow down!" Dean laughed with a '_told-you-so_' smirk.

Beclyn suddenly stopped as she realized what a fool she had made herself seem by showing that she actually wanted something. It was always the first tactic of the enemy to trap a victim by its desires. She sat still, refusing to feel humiliated. Instead, she concentrated her thoughts on how it was all Dean's fault for offering such a mouth-watering treat in the first place. Standing, she glowered at Dean and his Godforsaken chocolate.

Dean didn't even bother glancing up as he growled, "What the hell is your problem this time?"

"You..." she started, her teeth grinding together painfully. A thousand words filled her mind of what she could call him but halted.

_He's not worth my time_, she told herself disappearing into the bedroom, ready to sleep.

"That's my room! I was going to sleep in that bedroom," Sam suddenly whined. "Dean, tell her that I was going to--"

Both of the boys cried out as a pillow came hurtling out of the darkness of the room to smash onto the table, scattering the M&M's like marbles.

"I think that's her way of saying it's her room now," Dean muttered under his breath.

**Please review! I know I always ask but I love feedback, even if it's negative. **

**This week, reviewers get a fudge brownie! (healthy, I know)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you to the reviewers! Fudge brownies for everyone! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own it and I haven't seen all of the episodes of season 2 so please don't blame me if you see anything familiar. **

**Warning: Gore. **

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 12**

**Nex Necis**

The dreary streetlight outside the hotel window shone dully onto the hideously moldy carpet. The room had the gagging stench of musky deodorant and expired mothballs. It was only until after Dean had booked the hotel that Beclyn noticed there were only two bedrooms. One, really, since the other was barely capable of fitting a single mattress. Beclyn was glad that she had chosen the larger of the rooms. The queen-size bed wasn't in particularly good shape but at least it didn't collapse as she sat to undo Dean's heavy biker boots. She used her foot to slip them off her feet before choking on the horrible waft of smelly feet.

"Gross," she muttered as she removed the daggy blue shirt Dean had told her to wear that morning. She wanted to wear the leather jacket because she wasn't comfortable about walking around in public. She wasn't too keen on being seen in a crowded street as herself, let alone as him. But Dean had gaped at her and proclaimed that she was joking if she seriously thought she had a chance on wearing his - what did he call it - '_authentic, one-of-a-kind, snug, expensive, such-a-turn-on-for-the-chicks'_ jacket. After that, as far as she was concerned, he could take his '_oh-so-perfect_' jacket and shove it where the sun couldn't shine.

Flexing her muscles, Beclyn winced suddenly as a sharp pain stabbed through her shoulders. "What the..." she mumbled as she crossed to the oval mirror beside the bed to see what was inflicting the pain. To her astonishment, she found five long, deep claw scratches on each side of her shoulders. Lifting her hand to rub the sharp sting from her nerves, she wondered how Dean had sustained such an injury.

_The werewolf brothers,_ she realized.

Her hand moved across her neck, causing her to flinch as she found several painful dark bruises. She thought back to where she had found Dean in the dark alleyway. He had been pinned against the wall, gasping for breath as the werewolf had held him there by his throat.

Beclyn glanced down to the floor, reminiscing the killing of the doomed creature.

_"P-Please... You killed my brother. Y-You're a murderer..."_

Closing her eyes, Beclyn tried not to think about the pathetic transformed figure of the werewolf begging for his life. It wasn't guilt that made Beclyn hesitate on the memory - it was the fact that she had been so keen on killing the monster quickly and brutally. The thing had deserved to die, but the anticipation of knowing that it was her hands which were going to pull the trigger and destroy the beast - take a life - snuffed the flame of the murderer's fury.

She had enjoyed it. It made her sick to the stomach to know that she had craved killing the creature. It was her job. Her life. It was all she had.

"Five years..." Beclyn whispered softly, turning back to the depths of the mirror. "I've been doing this for five years..."

She may have been hunting evil creatures for longer - she just really couldn't remember.

Her gaze caught the staring eyes of the figure filling the mirror. They were eyes of a man who had once had a home, a loving mother, a caring father. They belonged to a man who was over-protective of his younger brother and who was determined to find what father they still had.

As she shifted her gaze nervously, a small cut below the left temple caught her attention.

_I pushed him down the stairs,_ she told herself. _It was back when I was hunting the banshee and he got in my way. _

A smirk flickered across her lips as she could see herself barking orders, even though she hadn't even known the two strange men who had interrupted her hunt.

Shifting to her jeans, she unzipped the fly and shrugged the particle of clothing off, revealing a pair of black boxers. A scabby red line tainted the upper-right thigh.

_That was from where I stabbed him after he wasted all my time when I tracked the werewolf, _Beclyn sighed inwardly.

A sly sneer crossed her lips as she remembered the eldest hunter cowering in fear as she roared at him. But then he had ruined the whole lecture by joking about her aim. _No one _could joke about Beclyn's aim and get away with it. She knew her aim was perfect - she just didn't want to kill him... Sort of.

Stretching, careful not to disturb her injuries again, she made her way to Dean's duffel bag. The black bag was lying limply on the dresser table, full of dirty clothes, weapons and several other things that Beclyn _did_ _not _want to know about - such as the pink lacy bra which had been signed, '_Deany-baby__ had the g__r__8est time, luv u - Tara'_.

As much as she didn't want to rustle through the bag again, Beclyn was urgently in need of another shirt. The one on the floor smelt of Dean's sweat and that was enough of an excuse for Beclyn.

Unzipping the bag, she let the contents fall on the bed before she began to rummage through it. She tossed aside three used shirts, a crinkled pair of blue jeans, a jumper with a dark stain on the front and a few pairs of boxers. Reaching into the large pile of junk, Beclyn instantly wrenched her hand back when she felt something with the texture of plastic.

_Oh, God, _she swore savagely. _That could have been anything. An old candy bar? An open condom wrapper? What could be worse than that?_

Scrunching her nose in distaste, she reached back inside the pile, grabbed the plastic item then scrunched it in the palm of her hand. Withdrawing her fist, she glanced at the object, trying to relieve her curiosity. Her eyes narrowed as the plastic remained rumpled like folded cardboard. She smoothed the wrinkles then stared at the mysterious thing. It was a photograph - an old one too, judging by the coffee stains and white jagged fold-marks. The picture had been opened many times due to the deep creases and grungy fingerprints, meaning that it was well loved. Beclyn could see why. A woman with a cheery face and blonde hair stood in a park, holding an excited four-year old from escaping her grasp with tender care. A man with dark brownish-black hair had his arms around her, his smile enthusiastic and loving.

Mary, Dean and John Winchester.

_"I wanna go play!" _a childish voice at the back of Beclyn's mind protested impatiently. Closing her eyes, Beclyn was suddenly lurched into a world which was far different from the cheap motel bedroom.

_The park was filled with cheerful families enjoying the sun's pleasant rays as they shone upon the luscious green grass and oak trees. A family of three posed, smiling for a photograph as a friendly stranger poised the camera. The stranger clicked the button which was soon followed by the whiz of wires straining to create the photographic memory. John nodded his thanks as he took the camera from the stranger and he placed it back into the safety of the picnic basket as his son anxiously tried to shoo his mother's hands._

_"Mummy, let go! I wanna go play with the football!" a young Dean squealed. He struggled against her grasp, his mind transfixed on the toy just out of hand's reach. _

_"Okay! Okay!" Mary laughed as she released her son, who was now bounding around joyfully, victorious._

_"Dad. Dad! I'll throw it to you, okay?" Dean almost crash-tackled the ball in an attempt to keep it from rolling away before heaving a clumsy throw to John. _

_John caught it easily but flexed his arm and pretended to be in pain. "What a throw, son. Just trying to catch that one bruised all of my muscles!"_

_"Da-ad!" the child whined with a groan. "You always say that!"_

_Suddenly lurching towards his mother, Dean begged, "Mummy, tell Dad that he always says that!"_

_A soft smile touched her features as Mary turned to John and said in a playful voice, "Your son has spoken, John Winchester."_

_"Yeah?" John grinned back, a sudden teasing edge entering his tone. "And what does my other son say?"_

_Mary rolled her eyes and ran a loving hand across her very pregnant stomach. "From how much he's rolling around today, I'd say that he wants to play, too."_

_John beamed happily and grabbed Dean as he tried to run past. Hoisting the child into his arms, he asked excitedly, "What do you think, Dean? When your little brother is born, we'll bring him here and play catch, huh?"_

_"No, Daddy!" Dean scolded with a playful laugh as he ran a hand through his father's hair. "He'll be just a baby."_

Beclyn opened her eyes. For a second, she could still feel the cool breeze against her face and the soft grass under her feet. She strained to try and hear the laughing joyful voices of families but they flickered away like a snuffed flame, lost as the memory passed. Suddenly, her features contorted. Sweat broke out on her forehead as her mind lurched back into gear, her thoughts screaming that what she just seen was _not_ normal. Her tongue seemed to have plastered itself to the roof of her mouth as facts slammed her brain to the core. The memory she had just witnessed wasn't hers, but that was impossible. Everyone knew that memories were sacred and could only be seen by the beholder.

_So then why the hell did I just see one of Dean's memories? _

- - -

Dean had managed to scoop most of the M&M's back into the packet off the dirty floor from where Beclyn had thrown the pillow. He cursed for the seventh time as he stood too quickly and sent his brain into vertigo.

"Damn it, Sam," he cursed at the female figure gazing innocently at him. "Why do you have to be so tall? I feel like I'm going to knock my head on the clouds."

"Actually, that's not possible," Sam pointed out quickly. "Clouds are nothing but dust particles and air so if you were to reach them then you wouldn't--" He stopped when he saw the not-so-amused glare from his older brother. "Sorry," he muttered, feeling like a freak.

"Whatever," Dean answered with a careless shrug.

While he had been watching Dean pick up every single piece of chocolate, Sam had been thinking about Beclyn. "Hey, Dean." Sam glanced up at the figure groaning about his now aching back. "Do you really think we're going to catch the demon that killed Mum?"

Dean faltered, more astounded at the question than the answer. "Of course we're going to find it!" Dean snapped in a harsh voice. "We're gonna find it, then we're gonna toast it. No questions asked." Sometimes he wondered where Sam found all these stupid pointless questions.

Sam bit his lip for a second before mumbling, "Do you think Beclyn will help us?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean turned to yell at Sam for being such a pessimistic idiot but instead saw the frail figure chewing on a thumb nail, looking lost and hopeless. Dean reminded himself that inside that body was his Sammy. The poor kid had been through so much in the past six months that he didn't know what to think anymore.

Surprising Sam, Dean sat back in his chair and clasped a hand over the small delicate fingers of the female figure. "Of course she'll help us, Sam," he said softly. "This thing killed her parents as well. She wants revenge just as much as we do."

Tears filled the younger brother's eyes as he tried to picture Beclyn growing up, sobbing over her parents' unfortunate death.

_She must've been so alone over these past years, knowing that her parents weren't there for her, _Sam thought while slowly making himself depressed. _She's just trying to find the demon that killed them. At least Dean and I had Dad. She had no one to look after her. No wonder she's so upset. _

"So..." Dean mused, watching Sam as he fell back into self-sorrow and emotional tatters. He knew exactly what would snap him out of it - he had been complaining of it for the last half hour to no one in particular. "Do you think Beclyn's enjoying sleeping in the _large_ bedroom?"

Almost instantly, Sam's gaze hardened and anger twisted his soft features. "That was _my_ room," he complained. In between sessions of aimless thinking about whether or not they were going to catch the demon, Sam had been concentrating on furiously muttering at the table about Beclyn stealing his room. After all, he had to get rid of the anger some how. Turning back to the grimy spot on the surface which he had chosen to be the perfect target for cursing at, Sam opened his mouth to recommence his anger vent but Dean stopped him when the taller figure nagged, "Dude, if you're gonna start having your conversation with the furniture again then I suggest you go to bed. You're making _me_ feel crazy just listening to you."

"Fine," Sam snapped angrily. "I try and take my anger out on something that can't fight back like you told me to and you tell me that I'm insane. Fine, Dean. Just... Fine."

"You know, they have medication for that," Dean answered snidely with a raised eyebrow.

"Shut up," Sam retaliated sharply, standing from his seat to make his way to the _smaller_ bedroom - the bedroom he specifically _did not_ want to have.

"You going to bed?" Dean asked, watching his brother. When he didn't receive an answer, he shook his head and muttered, "Goodnight, then."

- - -

_A large gust of wind stirs the forest leaves as midnight draws near. The deep dark of night is only disturbed by a set of bright headlights drifting down the straight highway. The blue family car jolts over the bumps in the road as it races home so that its three passengers can snuggle into their toasty warm beds and drift into slumber. The two front passengers, a man with thick brown hair and a woman with pale cheeks, smile and talk of a party __at which __they had been celebrating earlier that evening. _

_The woman beams a white smile and laughs politely as her husband jokes. She glances into the backseat to check on their three-year old daughter. She carefully makes sure that the child is comfortably asleep in her chair before turning back to her husband who is smiling warmly. _

_They are both happy middle-class citizens who love their family, go to church, own a home with a wooden picket fence, and speak with their friends regularly at how perfect life turned out to be. The road they are traveling is dangerous at night as sometimes grizzly bears will wander onto the road and gaze curiously at passing cars. _

_Relaxing in her seat, the woman tells her husband that she loved seeing her sister so happy on her birthday, especially after how nervous she had been at holding a party. She comments on how adorably shy their daughter seems to be around lively company and how excited the three-year old was to spend the evening with her cousin Sarah. _

_Nodding, the husband agrees with a pleasant feeling of adoration for his beautiful wife and darling daughter. _

_Suggesting that she should take their daughter to meet with Sarah again for a play-date, the woman rubs her husband's arm encouragingly. _

_The husband nods then says a joke about how Sarah's father could certainly guzzle the alcohol earlier that night. _

_The woman laughs a fluttery laugh which seems to disappear into the night. Suddenly, feeling colder, she turns up the notch for the heating vent then continues to discuss her day. _

_Noticing that his daughter is beginning to stir, the husband presses the pedal for the acceleration so they can arrive home quicker. _

_The woman scolds him playfully for reckless driving and asks him to ease on the pace. _

_The husband nods then lifts his foot off the accelerator. The car continues to accumulate speed. The husband glances down at the gears, trying not to worry so that he doesn't panic his wife. _

_Telling him that he is driving too fast, the woman warns that they will wake their daughter and that they will have an accident if he continues to be a daredevil. _

_The husband slowly eases onto the brakes. Nothing happens. Abruptly panicking, he faces his wife who is now screaming that they are going too fast and will surely crash. _

_The daughter in the backseat has now been jolted awake by the bouncing of the car over the road and is staring fearfully at her terrified mother and father as the trees whoosh past as if she were still on the turning-wheel at the park near her house. Suddenly, the car hits a bump in the road and the vehicle sharply turns off the highway and into the forest of trees. There is a loud sound of metal clashing with a solid object and the unbearable noise of glass shattering, and then all is silent. _

_The daughter in the backseat, although unharmed, is afraid and frozen at the unfamiliar situation. In the front seat, she hears a gurgled cough which reminds her of what she sometimes did when drinking too much apple juice at once. Suddenly, her mother leans across the seat to the driver's side, although she doesn't look much like her mummy anymore. This woman has bleeding arms, her hair is tangled and messy, and a scarlet fluid drips from her lips. _

_The daughter watches as her mummy touches her daddy on the arm. Abruptly, the daughter feels that something is very wrong as her mummy bursts into sobs and reaches for her daddy's head. As if heeding to the touch, her daddy's head drops from his shoulders with a sickening slick sound as the red veins splurt blood only for the bodiless head to fall into her mummy's arms. Her mummy cries harder then chokes as more scarlet splutters from her mouth. The daughter finds it almost comical that her daddy no longer has a head but dares not laugh. Instead, she asks nicely for her mummy to kindly put it back because he may need it later. Her mummy slowly turns to face her, her once-beautiful face now ashen-grey. Her eyes goggle from her head and her medium-length black hair falls around her face, making her look like a ghost from the scary movies she is not allowed to watch. The young child watches as her mummy takes a shaky hand and calls for her daughter, "Beclyn... Oh, my God... Beclyn..." then suddenly, her mummy stops. Her mummy's eyes stay glassy and her hand drops as her mouth gapes and a stream of scarlet flows from a black whole which used to contain her teeth. The young child no longer finds the situation comical as she now realizes that her mummy and daddy are with her no longer for they are dead. And with that, she does not move, nor speak, nor make a sound in case the scary fabled forest monsters come out to eat her parents and take her away. _

_Instead, she cries silently in her head and stays gazing at the corpse of her mangled mother until dawn._

**So… There we go, another chapter done. Just another warning there will be gory, conflicting, suggestive scenes throughout the whole story. **

**Please read and review! Reviews this week get a… big, red, shiny balloon! –grins-- **


	13. Chapter 13

**And here's the next chapter! First of all, I do not like the login ritual that we have to do just to get into the story. I was fine with typing in the email and password but the image verification is so annoying because, as if my computer doesn't hate me enough, it doesn't sign in so quickly. **

**Thank you to my beta! She is awesome! I had to load this up on her computer because my internet is a bit screwy at the moment so I may not be able to upload the next chapter for a while . (sorry!)**

**I thank hayley and EmSyd for reviewing! --passes red balloon to each-- **

**Warnings: Supernatural themes, swearing.**

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 13**

**Veritas**

Sam sat up quickly. Sweat poured down his face in thick rivulets. His eyes were swollen from the sorrowful tears he had cried while dreaming. In his ears, he could hear his racing heart, bolting as the scenes from the nightmare attacked his mind again, and again, and again.

_The woman._

_The man._

_The daughter - Beclyn. _

Bile stung his throat as he tried not to remember the small dark-haired girl. Her eyes... Her midnight blue eyes... Her pale face... Why couldn't he have seen that it was her sooner?

Her mother and father, so happy and friendly... Only to be decapitated and stabbed to death with the misplaced branches of a tree.

Sam moaned and clutched his head.

"Why?" he choked.

_No wonder Beclyn is the way she is, _Sam thought, horrified. _She watched her parents die--_

Suddenly, he stopped.

_Wait,_ he thought suspiciously. _Her parents didn't die in a car crash - they died by the--_

Abruptly, it all clicked into place. Sam's lips pursed in anger.

_She lied. She lied about the demon. She lied about her parents. She fucking lied about everything!_

Sam ripped the tangled blankets from around his legs as he stomped from the room into the kitchen, fury lashing through his veins. The small kitchen was filled with early morning light as two figures sat at the table, sipping steaming cups of coffee. Beclyn's head was turned so that she was gazing out the window. She looked fatigued and fed up with something but Sam didn't care.

_That bitch is going to pay, _he growled.

- - -

Beclyn could hear the birds outside, twittering happily as the morning sun crept slowly over the mountain ranges surrounding the motel. She wished the sun could give her an energy boost because the coffee wasn't helping one bit. To sum it up nicely, she was exhausted. After the memory of Dean as a child, Beclyn had to suffer through a whole night of dreams - no, _nightmares _- of his memories all the way from when he bashed some kid in school because he called Sam a poofter to the werewolves he had hunted with her and Sam. Oh, and she had seen her fair share of memories of Dean with his... random girls. He had a habit of imagining girls naked - Beclyn had bolted awake, eyes wide with disgust and terror when she had seen _her_ naked form in there somewhere. She would have thought that the bastard had snuck in on her while she had been having a shower if her body wasn't so out of proportion. There were other favourites of his; one was a fuzzy-haired dark-coloured girl who was practically as tall as Dean was. As from that point, she was now avoiding any girl with the name _Cassie_ - if that was even the skank's real name.

Due to the circumstances, Beclyn had not even glanced at Dean since waking. Of course, he had said good morning and all the other _trying-to-be-nice _crap, but Beclyn was just getting through the morning by ignoring him. It was bad enough seeing him naked with his randoms in her head, let alone having to deal with him in person.

Suddenly, a sound of dramatically heavy footsteps entered the room. She didn't bother turning around. Sam really was _not_ worth her time.

"_You,_" a female voice snarled from behind Beclyn.

_Looks like I can't ignore him after all, _Beclyn sighed, wishing to be anywhere else.

"...I?" she answered, trying to make her tone as dismissive as possible.

"You're a Goddamn liar," Sam hissed, his teeth close to shattering point as he clenched down.

_Well, that's different from the ordinary 'good morning' he usually gives me._

"I'm a what now?" Beclyn asked simply. She had yet to turn and look at him.

Dean's attention was diverted from his mug as Sam began to shake with fury. "_You. Lied."_

"She lied?" Dean asked, placing his coffee on the table. "What about?"

"Tell him, Beclyn," Sam urged, his veins bulging dangerously from his temples.

Shrugging, Beclyn glanced at her coffee and muttered, "This coffee's shit. There's no caffeine."

"Tell him about the demon!" Sam shrilled. His patience, sanity, kindness, and rationalization lost as he figured what a _fool_ he was for _ever_ thinking Beclyn could possibly help _anybody._

Beclyn hesitated for a second, abruptly wondering if he knew about her recent flashback from when she was with the demon in the large oak tree, murdering families and spilling however more blood needed to gain satisfaction.

"_Tell us again how your parents died_," Sam hissed as he continued to pressure her in a threatening tone.

Beclyn smirked and said in a light voice, "Oh, you know. One minute my parents were singing 'rock-a-bye, baby' happily and then the next, some guy with Satan over his shoulder comes and rips out their hearts. Nothing big."

Blinking, shocked, Dean stood. "What are you talking about?" he questioned, his throat dry. "You said... _You _said... What about you being six-months old and the yellow-eyed demon with the fire? Didn't they die that way? There's no way you could lie without us knowing--"

"I do believe the word is _'fibbed'_," Beclyn sighed without a care. "I reckon what I said was a really good guess. After all, it's not like circus-freak will tell you any different--"

"You arrogant bitch..." Sam clenched through his teeth. "Your parents are dead and you don't even care..."

His grip tightening around his coffee, Dean was sure he was going to smash his mug out of pure, untouched fury. He had never seen Sam so angry but he could now understand why. Sam had cared so much. He had sympathized with Beclyn because of her absence of parents, only for it to be tossed back into his face with a little note of '_Ha, ha_' attached.

"You're sadistic, you know that?" Sam accused as he turned his head to the cracked linoleum. He couldn't stand to look at her. Even though she had the body of his brother, she had the mind of a psychopath. _Nothing_ could cause the pain he wanted her to feel right now - not even a knife through the skull or heart could make her scream loud enough to make her feel the same that he did. There was only one thing he could say to try and cause the same vicious affect.

_"How did it feel..." _The female figure glanced up, fiery, murderous intent in the soul of the midnight blue depths as the words sounded as slick and sly as a knife parting flesh. "_How did it feel to watch your parents die?_"

"It felt grea--" Beclyn started with a laugh but then halted. A tiny, high-pitched, terrified voice cried in the back of her head, begging fearfully for her personal nightmare to be over.

_Mummy, Mummy, please... Stop looking at me with those eyes... I'm so sorry. I don't know what I've done! Help Daddy, Mummy. Help Daddy with his head. He can't do anything without his head. Mummy, please, you're scaring me... Can we please go home? Can we please go back to driving? I want to go home and snuggle with my toys. I don't want to be here in the dark. Please, Mummy... I just want everything to be normal again. PLEASE!_

_It had been five hours since the three-year old girl had survived the tragic car accident. Her father's head was sitting somewhere under the front passenger's seat, sticky blood and oozing brains staining the foot mat. The woman, whom had died after being stabbed through the lungs with multiple sharp branches, had her corpse lying in the gap between the front seats, her eyes frozen in a glassy stare at the little girl. The only sound within the car was the drip, drip, drip of blood from the corpse's mouth and the shrill gasps of the tiny girl's breaths. She had lost all sense of time ever since she had started having hallucinations of her mother's body suddenly twisting and clawing to life, gargling as black blood flowed from her open mouth only to swallow the little girl whole. A terrified sob escaped the girl's throat and she had to bite upon her lip to keep from crying. If she cried, the night monsters would get her. On sleepovers at Auntie Karla's house, Sarah had told the younger child of animals which could tear her in two, creatures which could sense her fear from a hundred miles away and prey upon it, and monsters with looks fearsome enough to kill. The frail girl now wished that she had never listened to her year-older cousin as the dark clawed at her from all sides of the car. Although the child didn't dare look down, she knew her hands were bleeding. It was from where she had to clench them together to keep the dark from over-powering her. Her lip was split, a mixture of blood and saliva dribbling off of her chin. Pain meant that she was still alive. Being alive meant that the night monsters hadn't caught her yet. At one stage, something had begun to scratch the crumpled exterior of the car. The girl imagined a monster's long black talons screeching along the metal, hollow red eyes glaring open with its sharp rows of yellow teeth gaping hungrily for fresh meat. Out of raw fear, the girl had ripped a thick chunk of almost-black hair from her scalp to keep herself from screaming in horror. _

_Because she knew, out there in the middle of the dark, no one could hear her scream. _

"Hey... Come on, wake up..." Dean nudged Beclyn's face lightly with a hand, trying to make her stir.

Beclyn's eyes opened in slits, perspiration dotting her brow. The room blurred then began to take shape. She was on the floor, her left arm sprawled out behind her and her legs slightly apart. "Aye, Beclyn, you awake?" Dean asked her. He was sitting beside her, his face looming across her vision. "If you're dead, blink twice."

Letting out a long pained moan, Beclyn shifted so that she was lying on her side.

"Is she okay?" Sam shrieked from somewhere across the room. A set of jumpy footsteps approached her side before Sam blabbered, "Is she okay, Dean? I didn't mean to kill her. I swear!"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, Sam. Shut up for a sec," Dean ordered him. A hand very lightly made contact with Beclyn's cheek as Dean turned her head so that she was facing his concerned face. "You okay, Bec?"

_WHACK!_

"Frigging hell!" Dean roared as Beclyn's hand returned the gesture with an angry force. He lurched back, his hand against his reddening cheek as he cried, "What the hell was that for?"

"_Don't touch me..." _Beclyn slurred as she sat up.

Dean glared at her incredulously as he furiously spluttered, "You didn't have to hit me!"

"You didn't have to touch me," she answered snidely.

As Dean rubbed his cheek tenderly, Sam stared at Beclyn, swallowing nervously as she gazed at the floor. "Beclyn..." he started, his dry throat clogging his voice.

_What am I meant to say?_ Sam asked himself. _For someone who seemed so sadistic and then to suddenly faint when they heard that their parents were... But she already knew that they were dead, right?_

"Beclyn, please tell me that you already knew that your parents were gone..." Sam whispered softly, his gaze solid upon her.

Turning away, Beclyn tried to ignore him but soon found her eyes gazing into his. Sam watched her, feeling his shoulders droop as he saw her eyes become glassy with unshed tears.

"I always thought that they were dead," Beclyn mumbled, her gaze falling to the sickly yellow linoleum. "It's just that... It was a car crash, wasn't it?"

Sam nodded solemnly. "Your dad died instantly and your mother--"

"Choked to death on her own blood," she finished for him.

Glancing from one depressed figure to the other, Dean tried to make sense of everything being said around him. The tense silence of the room was making him feel giddy with confusion. All he knew was that he didn't need a nervous breakdown from either of the people beside him at the moment.

"So..." Sam mumbled, breaking the silence. He fidgeted nervously with his hands, trying to find the right words to voice his feelings. "I'm so sorry... I thought that since you said your parents died in a fire... I just presumed that you had lied on purpose... I didn't think you had no idea about how they died--"

Rubbing her arms numbly, Beclyn dragged her legs beneath her. She wanted to wrap her arms around her knees and curl into a ball, wishing that the world wasn't so cruel. Her parents were dead. It should have been so clear... If they were alive then why hadn't they contacted her? It all made sense now.

"You know..." Sam shuffled his feet, sniffing back tears of utter guilt as he watched the figure of his brother curl against the table, a desperate gesture of hopelessness from the lost girl inside. "When Jess died, I felt--"

"You really know what?" Dean stood abruptly, dusting his jeans in a careless manner. "We are less than a few hours from Missouri's house. The more we sit here and mope, the more time we lose in getting our bodies back. So cram the chick flick and let's get out of here."

_Trust Dean to ruin the bonding moment,_ Sam thought as he watched his brother turn to help Beclyn from the floor. _I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. _

- - -

It had been only half an hour since Dean had seen the sign welcoming the three passengers to their final destination. Half an hour was far too short for Dean as he was trembling in anxiety as to what the elderly psychic would say to him. Dean had always been helpful to Missouri, sure. But when he screwed up or had an accident, he really blew it out of proportion. Like the time when Missouri had been making a 'protection potion' for a woman who was fearful of bugs. Dean hadn't known why the woman had arrived at the psychic's house crying and begging for help, but he thought he could help her by adding a few ingredients of his own to the concoction while Missouri was out speaking with the frantic lady. Out of all the things he could have put into the mix, he had to choose the one that had the longest name which he hadn't a clue what it meant. How was he supposed to know that it would explode? And not just a _'poof' _explosion but an almighty _'bang' _explosion. When Missouri had come running back into the kitchen to investigate the noise, she had found that her kitchen windows had been shattered, all the jars which she held all of her ingredients in were now smashed, but worst of all, the protection potion was now completely and utterly useless. Dean's only excuse was that he thought _'sodium bicarbonate' _was actually a really, really long name for '_bug spray'. _

Dean couldn't imagine Missouri's reaction if he just turned up on her doorstep now with a guilty grin on his face and the words, "Look, Missouri, this is going to sound insane, but..."

Only one word could describe how he was feeling at that moment and it was definitely not excited.

"Remember, don't look her in the eye," Dean told Beclyn as he pulled the car over onto a sunny suburban curb outside of the psychic's home. "If she asks you about Dad or how my life is going then just nod and say something that is believable."

"Dean, why couldn't you just tell Missouri that we had a bit of an accident and that we switched bodies? I don't think she'd care," Sam pointed out from the backseat. Dean had made sure he was sitting in the backseat because Missouri would be sure to be suspicious if a girl was riding in the front seat of his baby.

"You know what?" Beclyn said, her patience lost the moment Dean started barking orders. She was nervous because Dean - _the one who had said that it would be such a great idea to see the witch in the first place _- was worried. "Why don't we turn around and tell the witch that you're not feeling well?"

"_Psychic_," both of the boys hissed harshly in unison to correct her.

"God, this is going to be fun," Beclyn muttered sarcastically to herself. She would have given anything to just be able to step out of the car and run away like all hell.

Dean glanced up at the house from the corner of his eye. No body seemed to have noticed their arrival. Good. "Remember," he began again, "I don't _strut _like _you_. I walk like a _man_. You got that?"

"Yeah, yeah," Beclyn said with a sigh, rolling her eyes. "And I can't call her a witch and only 'hot' ever describes girls."

"And…?" Dean pressured. It was severely important that she didn't screw up or else it was his life on the line.

"If she doesn't directly ask me a question then I'm not allowed to answer or talk." Beclyn was finding herself tire as Dean poked and prodded her until she was imitating everything he did.

"Right," Dean said, feeling more anxiety fall onto his shoulders. "And, Sam, you're...?"

Sam glanced down at the over-sized sweater he was wearing, along with the baggy, shapeless jeans he had managed to buy earlier. It was all he could do to try and hide the massive mountains of his overly-feminine chest and his slim thighs. _God,_ he felt like such a girl. "I'm a friend that needed a ride to the next town," Sam recited. "I'm only here because I have to be."

"I don't know about the 'friend' bit but the rest of it is true," Beclyn pointed out, knowing that it would annoy Dean.

Letting the comment slide, Dean heaved a deep breath and clutched the steering wheel even though the car was already parked. It was all he could do to try to ease his nerves.

_It's okay,_ he reminded himself. _Missouri doesn't know about any of the body switching business. She thinks that Sam, a friend, and I are coming to visit. This is going to work._

"I think he's having a panic attack," Sam mumbled as he watched his brother's eyes close and his lips purse together as if trying to drive evil from his system.

"For the love of--," Beclyn swore then grabbed Dean's shoulder to push him against the door. It successfully woke him up with a start. "Let's hurry up, see the witch, and then get out of here."

Before the boys could correct her, she opened the car door and stepped onto a thick layer of freshly mowed grass. Dean and Sam followed quickly.

_This is going to work,_ Dean kept telling himself. _This is going to work._

Before Beclyn could pound upon the front door, Dean lurched forward and gave it a slight knock while throwing her a warning glare. Inside, he could hear someone approaching.

_This is gonna work. This is gonna work. This is gonna--_

The door swung open to reveal a plump, dark woman of medium height. Her eyebrows rose in question as her gaze drifted to the three figures standing before her.

"Missouri!" Dean cried out with an imitation of Sam's grin. "It's so great to see--"

"Oh, my Lord," the woman muttered with a shake of the head. Her eyes trained upon the body of Dean which Beclyn inhabited. It took all of Beclyn's stamina to not snap at the woman as her eyes wandered over her male body. Then, to Dean's utmost fear, Missouri sighed, "My dear girl, what have these boys done to you?"

- - -

"Why on Earth didn't you tell me sooner?" Missouri demanded as Dean shuffled on the cushy living-room sofa guiltily.

"We were going to tell you but... Well, Missouri, look at us! Sam's suddenly a girl and my body's been taken by some crazy chick who has tried to kill me too many times to count!" Dean yelled accusingly.

Beclyn and Sam exchanged cautious glances as they sat next to the frantic man while he tried to defend himself. The humble woman was settled across from them in a comfy-looking green chair. Her expression towards Dean was one of reprimanding while her face softened as it settled upon the other two tired companions. Beclyn was sitting straight, not letting her guard down for a second in front of the calm woman. Sam, on the other hand, kept fidgeting with his sweater and was slouched slightly.

"Well, then," Missouri said with a sigh as a warm, welcoming smile possessed her lips. "At least it's good to see you boys doin' alright. I've been worried since your last visit." Her gaze turned to Beclyn whose glare did not once waver or blink. "You didn't have company back then either. So, dear, tell me, what's your name?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer for her but Missouri just stared at Beclyn then nodded in understanding and said, "Beclyn, hmm? Beclyn Jones. Well, I must say, that is such a pretty name, Beclyn."

Beclyn's eyes widened in confusion as she wondered how the woman could have known her name. An amused smile flickered over Missouri's lips as the elderly woman exclaimed, "Girl, you dun' need to say anything for me to know what you're thinkin'. You know that I'm psychic, and - _no _- I'm not a witch."

If Beclyn's eyes were wide before, they were now bulging from her skull in shock.

"I'm Missouri, by the way." The content woman leaned back in her seat, gazing from one figure to the next, waiting. "Well," she said after a few moments of silence. "Aren't you goin' to tell me how this--" she waved her arm in a lazy gesture, "--_'switch' _came about?"

The three figures glanced at each other before Sam explained, "We had just moved towns after hunting a set of werewolves and Dean wanted to go to a bar--"

"I did not!" Dean cried out as Missouri's eyebrow spiked. "I mean... I was just asking for _directions - _I didn't go there to pick up girls, or get drunk, or--"

"--but he ended up getting drunk anyway," Sam continued, glowering at Dean for interrupting him. "Then we went to a motel room and we went to sleep. When we woke up in the morning, I was Beclyn, Dean was me, and Beclyn was Dean."

Missouri nodded, registering the story. "Did you drink anything unfamiliar before you went to sleep?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Dean might've," Sam said, trying to remember the bar. "He was drunk after three beers so he wouldn't have known what he was drinking after that."

"I didn't drink anything unfamiliar!" Dean proclaimed then hushed his voice as he spat at Sam, "And I wasn't drunk after three beers. It was six, I'll have you know..."

With a long sigh, Missouri said, "This just solves everything."

Beclyn's eyes narrowed as Missouri said, "I'm sorry to tell you kids, but I can't help you with this problem of yours."

"_What_?!" Sam and Dean gasped in unison.

"I'm telling the truth," she continued. "This thing that caused this problem... it's too far away to deal with. I'm not even quite sure that they know what they've done."

The blank expressions she received pressured her to continue her logic. "It's obviously a potion that's done this. I've never heard of a spell being capable of switching bodies. But, you have nothing to fear. This potion is supposed to fade away before it causes too much damage. But I'm telling you now, a witch caused this, and boy, I have rarely seen a potion like it. This is powerful magic. Beclyn and Sam, it is bad enough that you kids have managed to switch genders, let alone see the memories that join to that body. To tell you the truth, sweethearts, I think that you are in over your heads."

"_What_?" Dean spluttered while jumping to his feet. "Are you telling me that a witch caused this and we're not strong enough to waste her? Hate to tell you, but I have a boot full of ammo and weapons which support my idea of toasting her."

"I'm not saying that you're not strong enough." Missouri waved for him to calm down and be quiet. "I'm saying that this situation really is over your head. To get to this witch is too time-consuming and I think it would be best if you'd let it be."

"You're telling us that you'd rather a guilty witch walk free?" Sam inquired, his tone set and firm to agree with his brother.

"Guilty had nothing to do with it--" Missouri started but Beclyn broke in, startling everyone with a vicious emphasis to her voice.

"It would be doing the society a favour by killing her. _No witch is ever truly innocent_," she spat.

Missouri's eyes frowned in concern as she leant forward and grasped Beclyn's hand in a gesture of care. "Hun, just let it go." The woman's eyes narrowed further as they caught the direct line of Beclyn's glare. She had never seen anything so... intense.

"Boys, will excuse us for a second," Missouri asked Dean and Sam firmly. "There are things we need to discuss."

The two men hesitated at the woman's tone of voice. She rarely _ever_ used that tone. The seriousness of it just didn't sound like the caring, happy Missouri both of the boys knew. "The mango icy-poles are in the freezer next to the packet of peas," Missouri told Dean without turning away from Beclyn. "And I have a container of freshly-frozen bananas for you, Sam."

Within an instant, both boys were scrambling for the kitchen like a murder of crows fighting for a scrap of meat.

Missouri sighed loudly then said, "So, dear. Is there anythin' you wanted to ask me?"

Beclyn remained staring at her from the couch, not blinking or muttering a word to disturb the woman.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Missouri continued. "Many people come to me askin' for help when they really want answers for somethin' else." Beclyn remained silent. "For instance, I know for a fact that you came here under the comfortin' disguise of needin' help about the body switches but you're really dyin' to ask me that question that's been naggin' at your mind for the past five years."

"So," Beclyn finally spoke. Her eyes were set like stone as she whispered, "Do you know the answer?"

"Oh, sweetie," Missouri muttered, her serious expression fading away to be replaced by one of deep concern. "You know I don't know the answer to everything. Your past is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. It's up to you to find out what happened before you lost everything five years ago. All I can do is point you in the right direction."

Beclyn leaned forward. She _wanted _to know. She _needed _to know. "Tell me," she hissed under her breath.

Missouri leant close to her ear, making sure she could hear the boys roaming around the kitchen so that they couldn't hear before whispering, "Stick with the Winchesters. They'll lead you to all you need to know."

- - -

Missouri beamed happily as the now incredibly tall figure that Dean inhabited bent down and gave her a hug.

"Stay good, now!" Missouri told them in light spirits as the three figures nodded and walked down the drive way to the black Impala. Beclyn turned her head slightly so she could just see the woman while climbing into the front seat. She felt slightly betrayed that she couldn't tell her what she wanted to know, but now she had a better lead. It was like following the yellow-brick road - Winchester-style. If she stuck with the Winchesters, she would soon find out which evil son-of-a-bitch was trying to hunt her down and kill her.

It was as simple as that.

- - -

_There was no way I was going to tell her the truth,_ Missouri reconciled with herself. _To tell her what happened in her past would be the same as killing the poor girl. What a nightmare she's lived._

Missouri watched as the car pulled onto the road and tore into the distance. An amused smile teased her lips as she remembered John giving Dean that car. What did Dean call it again? His _'baby'_. It wouldn't have been nearly as valuable to him if his father hadn't have given the monstrous black beast to him.

"Oh!" Missouri suddenly cried out. She almost forgot all about calling John. It was something she always did after the boys visited her so that she could tell them how they were. Not that she agreed to the fact that not seeing his boys was healthy for John. She was one of the people who had begged him to call his eldest and share some comforting words but John was as stubborn as a mule.

Picking up her old-style phone, she dialled John's number and waited for the second ring before a voice said, "John speaking."

"Hello, dear," Missouri said with a smile as if he could see the mischievous expression upon her face. "I just got a visit from your boys. You won't _believe _who they were with."

**Did you like it? Did you hate it? Please let me know. I didn't get many reviews for the last chapter so I'm feeling slightly put off... **

**BUT, apart from that, now is the time that I scream that the chapters after next are going to get gory. If I'm ever going to test my very strong T+ rating then now is the time. Just to give you a clue, there will be violence, torture, suicidal themes, rape (I'm going to try and fix this so that everybody stays happy), and all that 'dark' stuff that makes parents scream in petrified horror. Just giving you warnings now so that I don't receive flames from unaware people screaming that I need to see a psychiatrist need a new straitjacket, though. Kind of chewed through the last one ;) **

**Reviewers this week get a... mango icypole (Dean's favourie. Heh.)! **


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you to the reviewers, ****Vetinarus, EmSyd, hayley!**

**Damn internet is still down so it'll take a while to upload the next chapter. **

**Thanks!**

**Warnings: Violence (as usual), swearing, ISSUES –hint, hint, nudge, nudge-- **

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 14**

Of the two hours that had passed since Beclyn had left Missouri's home, she had not let one second go by without wondering what the elderly psychic had said.

_Your past is as much a mystery to me as it is to you..._

No matter how hard she tried, Beclyn still had the nagging feeling that there was something Missouri hadn't told her. The woman had seemed nice enough but there was something missing. It wasn't as if she wasn't a trustworthy person, and even if she wasn't, she hid all the lies behind her eyes. Beclyn could usually tell if people were lying by looking into their eyes. The liars always flinched, or fidgeted, or turned away to hide. But Missouri didn't.

_She stared at me straight in the eye and I still swear she was lying about something, _Beclyn thought agitatedly.

Lifting her hand to her mouth, she began to chew on her nails, only to abruptly burst into a noisy din of spluttering and choking.

_What the hell is that taste?!_

"What's wrong with you?" Dean glared at her from beside her in the driver's seat.

Beclyn coughed, hurked, then spat out of the window before turning to Dean with her mouth creased to form a frown of utter distaste and utmost glowering. Dean raised an eyebrow, knowing that she just found another excuse to want to cut him up into little pieces.

"What the hell did you put under your fingernails?" Beclyn seethed at him while grabbing a tissue to wipe her hands. While she was thinking to herself for the past two hours she had completely forgotten that she was in the elder hunter's body. She glanced down at her broken, grimy, scratched fingernails to observe what she may or may not have just tasted.

"What did I put under my nails?" Dean asked himself out loud, suddenly realizing how much fun it would be to tease the worried girl. "Well... It could be anything. Could be last night's dinner, engine oil, or-- Hey! It could even be cyanide."

He knew he shouldn't have said anything, but the abrupt, forceful slap he received to the cheek from Beclyn made it all worth the taunting. "I hope it was cyanide..." Dean muttered sourly under his breath.

"Whatever it was, it tasted like shit," Beclyn said disgustedly.

"Yeah, and you'd know what shit tasted like?" Dean retorted, pulling the car onto a road with a rusty sign stating that a motel was only five minutes away.

"It was an _assumption_," she snapped back, searching around the front seat for something to wash her hands with.

"Whatever." Dean rolled his eyes then looked into the rearview mirror to glance into the backseat. Sam was hunched in the seat, his arms around his stomach as he groaned softly. "Sam?" Dean watched as the female figure winced, obviously in pain. Sam did not seem to be very well. His eyes were scrunched, perspiration dotted his forehead in a cold sweat, and almost all of the colour had been washed from his skin.

"I don't feel good..." Sam whimpered, wrapping his arms around himself tighter.

Dean's eyes furrowed in concern as he asked, "Why - what's up?"

"My stomach..." his brother moaned in reply. "It feels like there's something clawing at it from the inside..."

His eyebrow raising slightly, Dean sighed and said, "Dude, I told you not to eat so many bananas. I mean, come on - we have not a clue what Missouri keeps in her freezer. Maybe a potion leaked or--"

"It doesn't feel like food poisoning," Sam objected as he tried not to look at all the bright streetlamps zooming past. "It feels like... I don't know, but it feels bad."

"Hey, don't worry," the older sibling encouraged with a hesitant smile. "We'll be back to the hotel soon so we can find out what's wrong. Just hang in there, okay?" As if on cue, Dean saw the motel up ahead. "Almost there, Sammy," he said as he pulled into the parking lot. Quickly parking the Impala, Dean rushed to help Sam, his over-protective brotherly instincts reacting. Opening the door and wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders, Dean began to drag the younger brother to the hotel room. Beclyn sauntered from behind, not lifting a finger to help either of the brothers. After entering the motel room, Dean lowered Sam into an uncomfortable kitchen chair before beginning to dig through the medical supplies case. Beclyn closed the motel door with an unnecessary slam as she took her place at the table.

"Okay, so we have some gross-looking sludge which, on the label, says that it's guaranteed to cure any stomach problems," Dean announced, holding the glass bottle into the dim kitchen light so he could read the fine-print on the package. "It also says that the side-affects may include vomiting, diarrhoea, back pains, migraines, toothaches, cravings, mood swings--"

"I've got an idea," Beclyn interrupted. "Why don't we just kill him and be done with it?"

Dean threw her a nasty glare before sighing and turning to Sam. "So what do you think?" he pestered his younger brother. "Do you think we should take a try on the sludge?"

"Don't we just have painkillers?" Sam asked with a groan.

Shuffling through the bag, Dean shook his head and said, "Can't find any." He swivelled to point rudely at Beclyn before saying, "She must have taken the last ones to get rid of her hangover."

"Oh, you mean the hangover that _you_ gave me," Beclyn pointed out with an accusing tone.

"Look," Sam broke into the argument. "I'm going to bed, okay? It might make me feel better to just sleep this one off."

Standing, he began to shuffle to the bedroom with a slight groan as another stab of pain attacked his stomach.

Dean nodded in understanding, knowing that Sam would be okay in the morning - hell, Missouri even said that if they were lucky enough, they would switch bodies by morning as the potion faded, which meant that it wouldn't be Sam in pain, it would be Beclyn. Dean heard Beclyn mutter something under her breath but he didn't pay much notice. He was staring at something on the chair that Sam had been formerly occupying. Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror as he realized what it was. Lurching out to grab Sam, he pulled the startled hunter back into the kitchen, only to point at the pale seat cushion. Sam's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Although there were hundreds of other grimy stains and marks on the old pillow, he could definitely see the tiny crimson splotch against the fabric.

_"No..."_ Sam gasped, frozen to the spot in horror as everything fell into place._ "No... Can't be..."_

Dean opened and closed his gaping mouth. He didn't understand... Sam - his _Sammy_ - was...

"Sam..." Dean whispered, his throat constricting, "you're... _bleeding_."

Dean was suddenly pushed back as his younger brother lurched away from him, darting straight into the bathroom where he slammed the door hard enough to rattle the loose objects in the hotel room.

Gaping, confused and now _completely_ terrified for his brother's well-being, Dean stared at the door, wondering what on earth was wrong with Sam. If he _was_ bleeding, then wouldn't it be smarter to bandage the wound? Then, suddenly, it struck him.

_"No--"_ Dean began to choke disbelievingly.

"This is just frigging great," Beclyn exploded sarcastically, interrupting her companion. "Now, let me guess. _I_ have to be the one to help the _girl_ in there. God, he can be such a wimp."

Standing, she shoved a chair haphazardly out of the way before opening the door to the bathroom. Dean could see Sam was leaning against a wall, tears streaming down his face. "No!" Sam yelped as Beclyn entered the bathroom. "Please, no! I just want to be--"

Abruptly, the door slammed shut.

Dean stared at it, his mouth dry, his heart hammering, his hands sweaty and quivering.

"It can't be..." Dean muttered to himself, a shaking hand running through his long hair to try and clear his thoughts. Only one logical answer kept cropping up inside his mind, and it was the one he feared the most.

"The bananas have actually come _alive _and are _eating _Sammy from the inside..."

- - -

Sam stood under the hot stream of water in the shower, letting it soak through to his nerves, calming him enough for him to stop crying. He couldn't bring himself to look down in case more blood was coming from--

He couldn't even bring himself to think it. It was just _there_. The _forbidden_ place.

A shudder suddenly tore through his body. He had to lean against the shower wall to keep from sobbing. This _wasn't_ meant to happen to him. He was a healthy_ guy_. He wasn't meant to be going through _girly _issues. This was girl stuff - the sort of thing that guys try to keep well away from. The cramps he could handle, but the blood--

It was a guy's worst nightmare.

Sighing, he turned off the water and stood for a second, trying to gather his thoughts. It wasn't a big help that he instantly felt two eyes glaring at him from behind the uncomfortably thin plastic shower curtain. Making a thin gap in the plastic, Sam tucked his head out and came face-to-face with his brother's body's glowering stare. Beclyn was sitting on the toilet, the lid down so that she couldn't accidentally fall in. She was watching Sam, making sure that he was alright to stand since that when she came in, he was very close to passing out. If he fell over and cut his head open or hurt himself, it would mean that she'd be the one that'd have to deal with it when they switched back bodies in the morning.

Shuffling his feet, Sam began to feel the cold of the room now that he didn't have the hot spray of water anymore. Biting his lip nervously, he asked, "Beclyn, would you mind turning around while I get out?"

_God, this is humiliating, _he told himself. _Normal guys shouldn't have to suffer this. _

Raising an eyebrow, Beclyn pointed out, "Not until you show me your wrists. You were in there long enough to do some serious cutting. I want to see what damage you've done to _my _body."

_Could she ever just care that I was hurt - not the fact that it would hurt her as well? _Sam sighed inwardly.

"I haven't done anything," Sam said exasperatedly. "See?" He shoved his wrists through the plastic, only to shriek as the whole plastic curtain almost came down.

"_Christ_. You really are turning into a girl--" Beclyn started.

"Look," Sam suddenly hissed, his patience on its last thread. "I know that it doesn't bother you, but right now, all I can see is _Dean_ staring at me while I'm in the shower _nude_, okay? I'm not very comfortable with having my brother looking at me - even if it isn't really him."

Rolling her eyes, Beclyn swivelled on the seat to let Sam get dressed. Sam climbed out of the shower and grabbed his shirt. He didn't care about the bra - it was _hell_ to try and put it on without accidentally taking out an eye. He then slipped on the underwear which he thought were _far_ too lacy and dainty to be classified as a real particle of clothing. Just wearing them seriously gave a new edge to Dean's ever-recurring remark, _"Sam's wearing women's underwear...". _

"So... this _'period' _thing... How often does it happen?" Sam questioned to try and hide his ever-growing nerves.

"Just about once a month," Beclyn explained, staring at one of the many cracked tiles so she couldn't see him get dressed.

"And you just had to have yours _today_?" he continued, slipping on a pair of baggy jeans.

"I didn't choose to have it today," the other figure snapped condescendingly. "I don't even see why you're complaining. Sure, you may have it now, but when tomorrow comes, I'm going to be the one that has to deal with it."

Sam bit the inside of his cheek so that he didn't retaliate with an insulting remark. He was still unsure of whether or not she was coping with the abrupt news of her parents' deaths.

"It lasts for a week, right?" Sam politely inquired. As long as Beclyn was answering questions, it was classified as a '_conversation_' - something he knew was extremely hard to have with her. He wanted her to voice her problems, explain how she felt about certain things, and just reveal her emotions. Certainly she couldn't be an ice queen inside... Right?

"Yeah, it lasts for a week, give or take a few days." Beclyn shrugged, wishing she could just leave already. "The cramps aren't a great thing either. They can be anything from a numbing pain to a vicious stab."

_Yes! _Sam thought happily as he looked up at her, trying hard to keep his face from showing how glad he was that she was not only answering the questions that he asked, but she was also initiating new topics to the conversation.

Neatening his shirt, Sam approached Beclyn and said, "I'm done, now what do I do?"

Beclyn turned to see that he was fully dressed. A triumphant smile was plastered across his face, successfully annoying her. Stretching slightly, she reached across the bathroom - which was far too small for two people - to grab a small black bag. Opening it, she reached inside and tossed him a packaged pad.

From the way that his eyes widened in horror, anyone would have thought that she'd just thrown a bomb at him.

"You wear it in your underwear," Beclyn explained with a dismissive gesture of the hand.

"I wear... this?" Sam held the pink square of immaculate terror between pinched fingers. "How do I... You know...?"

He had to duck as the rest of the bag came flying at his head. "Figure it out," Beclyn snapped. "Hurry up and put it on. I'm hungry, thirsty, and this motel is disgusting."

Without another word, she stood and left the bathroom, once again slamming the door behind her.

- - -

Almost the instant Beclyn re-entered the kitchen, Dean came flying at her with a thousand questions about Sam's well-being.

"Is he okay?" Dean asked shrilly. He had spent ten minutes waiting in the kitchen, a thousand scenarios flashing through his mind, mostly consisting of Dean standing beside a grave marked for Sammy, weeping sadly and swearing revenge at the evil stomach-eating bananas which caused the devastation.

"He's fine," Beclyn said briefly. She strode to the kitchen sink to wash her hands but Dean wasn't so convinced.

"What happened to him? Why was he bleeding? Was it something he ate?" the tall figure pestered.

Gripping the edge of the sink, Beclyn growled, "You want to know what's wrong with him? He has his period - that's what."

Dean faltered, lost for a second. Then suddenly, it dawned on him. Of course, he had never really _seen_ a period. He hadn't been around a girl long enough to worry about the tacky issue that most men avoided like the plague. And like most men, Dean Winchester - the slayer of all things dark and terrifying - was afraid of periods. To him, girl's business was girl's business. There were certain things which were _never_ meant to be shared between genders. It was the main reason why he couldn't believe his little brother was in the room next door, bleeding.

_No..._ Dean shook his head, trying to think. _There is no way in the world Sam could be having a--_

"He made a mess of my jeans!" Beclyn complained, ignoring the other figure as he realized it was no joke. "Now he's using a second pair and I have to frigging wash the other ones. What the hell am I going to wear tomorrow?"

"You mean... He's in there... And he's...?" Dean had to swallow several times to choke out the words.

"Bleeding from his genitals, yes."

_No use sugar-coating it for him, _Beclyn decided. _He's old enough to understand girl issues. _

Obviously he wasn't, as Dean fell back into a chair, eyes wide in gaping disbelief. "It's not true--" he started but Beclyn was far too annoyed, tense, angry, and _Goddamn_ hungry to care.

"Sam, hurry up!" Beclyn yelled through the door at the figure on the other side. "Some of us are eating ourselves out here!"

Abruptly turning to face Dean, she grabbed his shoulder and heaved him from the chair, picking through his pockets until she heard the fluttery clinking of car keys.

"You're driving," she ordered the aghast figure.

Beclyn didn't usually go to pubs voluntarily because of the suspicious strangers which lurked behind every corner unless she was hungry. Since she was sure her stomach was eating itself, she couldn't care who or what was waiting at the closest pub.

Maybe if she hadn't skipped lunch that day, she wouldn't have had to meet _him_ again.

If she hadn't have been so careless, she could have survived.

- - -

The bar was bustling with the noise of voices chatting at once, laughter, clinking of glasses, and the jukebox blasting a nineties song. There must have been at least a hundred people standing around, joking and flirting with the opposite sex. Girls inshort mini-skirts with tank tops stretching across their bulging breasts giggled and clicked along the wooden floorboards in their incredibly high stiletto high heels. A few shirts were scattered along the floor from where frisky lovers had torn the clothing from their boyfriends - or guy they shared their bed with for that night - as they made out passionately in whatever spare space they could find within the crowded pub. If Beclyn could have had her way, she would not have chosen _this_ pub to come to. Crowds made her nervous, paranoid, and jumpy. Who knew what people lurked beside an unsuspecting victim? But Dean, being the driver, had announced that it was either they entered the first pub he found or else Beclyn could starve for all he cared. Sam wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the choice either. He didn't want to be around people - not while he had girly issues. He could barely get his head around the idea of accidentally making a mess on a seat or a guy making a quick grab and feeling something similar to a nappy wedged between his thighs. Sam didn't like pubs even when he was a guy - what would possibly make them any better now that he was a _girl?_

_Just a couple more hours and I'll be back to being me,_ Sam reminded himself.

To his horror, various men began to look up and wink suggestively as Sam tiptoed past. One even had the balls to grab Sam's arm to halt him as he tried to follow Beclyn and Dean.

"I need to--" Sam began, trying to pull away from the man who looked like he belonged in a wrestling ring more than a country-side pub.

The arrogant male smirked a nicotine-stained-tooth smile before saying, "Come on, baby. You don't wanna go with them losers. Come with me and me friends and I betcha'll have a fun ol' time."

The colour drained from Sam's face as the man stood and wrapped an arm around his feminine waist, dragging him towards the exit. "You gonna love my place," the man continued, the stench of whiskey and cigarettes causing Sam to choke as it wafted over him. "We'll have a real ol' party at mine. You gonna love it, baby."

"I really just want to stay here--" Sam protested but was startled as a tight set of hands instantly clamped onto his arm and wrenched him back towards the table. Swishing around, he came face to face with his brother's body.

"Sorry, mate," Beclyn snarled at the kidnapper. "This one's taken." Tightening her grip around Sam's arm, she tugged him over to the table Dean had chosen in the middle of the room.

"Ay?" the man cried out angrily. "Finder's keepers, asshole. This broad's mine!"

"First of all," Beclyn snapped at him, rising to the challenge, "this _'broad' _isn't yours. Secondly, you have to _have_ a dick, not _be_ a dick, for her to even contemplate going with you."

"You say somethin', shitface?" he aggressively commented. "I dun' see your name on this broad, so I give ya two seconds to get the fuck outta me face or else ya ain't gonna have one."

Taking two large steps, Beclyn came inches within his nose before hissing, "Why don't you just fu--"

Abruptly, a set of hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away as Dean exclaimed from behind her, "Okay! Come on, _Barry_. Let's not kill anyone tonight, alright?"

"What the--" Beclyn cried out as Dean wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tried to drag her away.

"Ay! Come back and fight like a man!" the rude male yelled. He pushed people out of the way, including Sam, before he yanked Beclyn back by the front of her shirt with a firm grip. "You ain't goin' nowhere til I tell ya to."

"Look," Dean said with a huge, cocky smile on his face. "Do yourself a favour. Go back to your table, flirt with some other chick and then--"

There were several gasps from around them as suddenly the man's fist collided with Dean's nose in a sickening _thwack_. Dean spluttered then fell to the ground, grasping his nose in pain as he stared wide-eyed up at his attacker.

"Ain't gonna meddle in no fights no more, are ya, boy?" the man laughed menacingly while giving the one-fingered salute.

"Speak for yourself," Beclyn suddenly snapped as she raised her leg in a powerful kick to the worst place a man could handle.

There were several loud moans and a few shocked gasps as the man's eyes bulged in excruciating pain. Blood sprayed from his mouth from where his teeth had chomped through his bottom lip. His hands lowered to his groin as he fell to his knees, trembling as the pain soared through his body. Many men in the pub cringed and muttered softly as they watched the scene before them. Lifting her middle finger, she saluted him back, before prodding his forehead lightly. Instantly, the man fell to the ground, whimpering and choked in sobs.

Shrugging, Beclyn turned to Dean. He was still on the ground, crimson blood gushing from his nose as he stared in amazement. "Come on," she hissed while grabbing his shirt to wrench him from the ground. Turning to Sam, she ordered, "Sit down over there. We'll be back in a second."

Pulling Dean from his back, she led him to the male toilets before slamming open the door and entering. Wads of wet toilet paper were hanging from the roof in thick stalactites. Murky yellow stains marked the dirty cream tiles around the chipped basins. Dragging Dean to the farthest sink, she turned on the water then grabbed two paper towels from the dispenser and ran them under the stream of cool liquid.

"Stay still," she said, beginning to pat them softly over his nose.

"Id hurds," Dean whined, poking his nose softly to test the sensitive areas.

"Don't do that!" Beclyn snapped. She pushed his hand away before gently continuing to soothe his possibly broken nose. "If you do that then you'll make it bruise."

Dean's eyes widened slightly, watching as she wet another towel and wiped the blood from his chin. "I can do dis myself," he pointed out bitterly.

"No, you can't," Beclyn corrected him. She gestured to several useless reflective shards of glass upon the wall which were supposed to be mirrors. "You can't see what you're doing and you'll end up making a mess of yourself."

"Why do you care?" he inquired incredulously. "Don'd dell me dad you've gone sofd."

Clenching her fist for a second, Beclyn let the comment slide before explaining, "I'm just paying back the favour. You took on that guy and received a blow, I'm doing the least I can to help."

"You dink dis is going to make dings good bedween us?" Dean asked sceptically, lowering his hands to give her more space to treat his wound.

"Look," Beclyn hissed through clenched teeth while continuing to pat his nose carefully, "I don't _have_ to do this. You didn't _have _to save me from that guy. I could have taken on that asshole any day. You didn't need to get involved."

"You're kidding, righd?" Dean suddenly grabbed her wrists, his concerned gaze staring straight into hers. "He was dwice your size. He would have _pummelled_ you."

"I can handle myself," she said firmly as she broke free of his grip. Dropping the towels into a small bin, she lifted her cold fingers to very lightly touch his nose, checking for any broken bones. "Besides," she added, "you were going to let him walk out with your brother."

"Sam can handle himself."

"Sam equals my body, which means you were going to let him walk out and have his way with _my_ body."

"Dun concern me," Dean joked, waiting for a laugh from Beclyn. When he didn't receive it, he sighed and muttered, "Okay. I'm sowwy. I shudn't have lefd Sam alone. Happy?"

"I don't care about Sam," Beclyn replied emotionlessly. "Don't think any different. I was only saving his ass because it was my body that was going to be taken and _used_ by someone who has shit for brains."

Dean smiled then tried to hide it as Beclyn's eyebrow raised as she caught sight of the gesture. "What?" she asked.

"Nudding," he mumbled, silently thinking to himself.

_You may pretend to be the almighty bitch, but inside, I know you really do care._

"By da way, qwid kicking guys in da balls - id hurds, you know."

- - -

_I'm such a girl!_ Sam moped as he sat by himself at the table, cradling an empty beer bottle. _I couldn't even protect myself against another guy. I'm such a fucking girl!_

Wiping his tired eyes, he gazed down at the table, depression making his body exhausted. He was pondering over the one-thousand-and-one things he could have said which would have made the big macho guy whimper in fear.

_Why do people always think of the best comebacks to say when it's too late to say anything? _Sam wondered to himself. _It's not like I can turn around ten minutes after the whole ordeal and say something which would hurt him. He'd just laugh. Jesus, why do I always have to be the one to get shown up? _

Twisting the brown bottle in his hands, he continued his train of thought.

_I should have reacted the moment he grabbed me. I could have just raised my arm and broken his bones in a flash then said something and he would have gone crying like a baby and wishing he could be anywhere but there. But no, Beclyn had to be the one to make him cry. Beclyn had to be the one to make him hurt. Beclyn had to be the one which made the crowd gasp in awe. Beclyn had to be the one to save the day. Stupid frigging Beclyn had to come and save the girl! _

Sam lay his head upon the table, thoroughly depressed as he muttered, "God, I'm such a girl."

Through his self-sorrow, he didn't realize that on the other side of the room, two sets of eyes were secretly watching him.

- - -

The glaring luscious brunette watched as Sam sighed and muttered sadly to himself. Her gaze narrowed to what he was drinking, then tuned into precisely what he did, even to the point of lip-reading what he was saying. Lowering her sunglasses to her eyes, she flicked from her pocket a small, discreet camera. Nobody questioned her as to why she was wearing sunglasses within a pub at midnight, or as to why she was quite interested in the dark-haired girl sitting in the middle of the room. It wouldn't matter if they did - they wouldn't live long enough to tell the tale.

"She one of the ones we're after?" her companion - a broad-shouldered man looking to be in his thirties - inquired.

The brunette frowned as she slipped the camera back into her pocket. Leaning her back against the filthy, beer-stained wall, she quietly said, "I'm not sure. She looks familiar."

"They all look the same to me," the man commented harshly. He, too, went to lean back against the wall but then hissed in distaste as his hand brushed something wet and sticky. _"Humans..." _He glared at his hand as if to try and rid himself of the limb before wiping the unknown substance from his hand onto his black jeans. _"Disgusting."_

The brunette and man stood still as a crowd of eight passed them, not caring as to what their purpose was. Watching the dark-haired girl intently, the brunette hissed, "She's so Goddamn familiar but I don't know who she is."

"Leave it, Jane," the man ordered. Glancing at the clock above the messy bar, he muttered, "Time to go."

The two strangers instantly made their way to the door, the brunette purposely ignoring all the drunken whistles from watchers while the man guarded her side with a wishful thought of wanting to slaughter the drunken fools.

Once in the parking lot, they began to make their way towards the looming woods by the pub. The brunette continued to stride gracefully as she said, "I'll enquire Father as to who she is."

The man lumbered at her side, checking their surroundings to be sure they were alone. "Is there any point in disturbing Father?" he responded. "He's too busy to care about a single human."

As they entered the gloom of the branches which seemed to reach forward and try to yank them into the darkness, the girl hissed angrily, "You didn't see who she was with, did you?"

The man faltered, his eyes furrowing in concentration. He had studied every human to enter the pub, but after a few hours, he had carelessly neglected to distinguish the differences between each person.

"She was with two men," the brunette clarified for him. "They matched the same characteristics as the _Winchesters_."

"They're not our problem," the man declared. "Father assigned someone else to hunt them. I am not going to waste my time killing humans I will not get the credit for."

The brunette suddenly grabbed his jacket and slammed him against a tree, her eyes livid with fury. "It's not about who's who," she hissed between clenched teeth. 'It's about finishing Father's quest." Releasing him, she smoothed the wrinkles from her tight, revealing red shirt before stating firmly, "Father's quest is _our_ business. I'll tell him that we found the Winchesters and that they've got an accomplice."

Then, abruptly, she disappeared into the night.

- - -

"It's so good to be me again!" Sam proclaimed happily as he stomped around the hotel room, waking the two sleeping figures.

"Whacha goin' on 'bout, 'Am?" Dean replied sleepily, wrapping his arms around his pillow and pulling it tightly to his chest.

"I'm me!" the tall figure exclaimed again. "No more brushing my hair sixty-thousand times in the morning, no more killer bras, no more lacy underwear - it's just good old me!"

"'Ud for you." Dean yawned loudly then rolled over, scratching his forehead before trying to drift back to sleep.

"You don't get it, Dean!" Sam prodded him accusingly with his finger. "I feel so much better knowing that I'm no longer a girl! I mean... My nose hurts a little - thanks to you - but that's okay because it's _my_ nose, on _my_ body, with_ me_ in it!"

Wishing that Sam could pipe down, Dean grabbed his pillow then shoved it over his head, trying to block out his excited brother.

"It's so great because I'm not a--" Sam continued joyfully before suddenly crying out in pain. Beclyn stood behind him, her eyes narrowed in anger as she pinched him in the side.

"If you don't mind," Beclyn seethed, pinching harder to causing Sam to cringe, "some of us are trying to sleep!"

"But I'm me, and you're you!"

"Good work, circus freak, figure that one out all by yourself?" she retaliated sarcastically. Turning around, she stomped back to the bedroom before proclaiming, "I'm going back to bed, and if one of you makes another _peep_, I will personally make sure there isn't a _you_ anymore, got it?"

Sam's shoulders slumped as the elation of his great discovery faded abruptly.

_So what if I'm me? Back to nightmares, back to the horrifying visions, back to being a personal punching-bag for Dean..._

"'Am?" Dean called from the couch. Sam looked down to find Dean sprawled out, his eyes closed with his mouth open as his hand moved to scratch his chest absent-mindedly - not bothering to act decent in any way or manner. "Go get us 'reakfast, 'ill ya?"

_Yep, I'm definitely back to being me, _Sam thought sourly.

- - -

_New York_

The water-stained cement walls of the building emitted a damp, earthy smell while outside, pages from old newspapers scattered the ground, swept up by the wind as if they were dirty, grey butterflies fighting desperately to escape the clutches of the unforgiving city. The sound of cars on a busy road was the only noise heard throughout the room. The only furniture of the room was a steel chair and an unmarked desk to match. The desk had been bolted to the cement wall while the chair sat next to a steel-barred window, warning any intruders to stay away. The room's only inhabitant, a man in his late fifties, stared as coloured cars passed the window, hurrying to their destination to try and fulfil their pathetic lives. The man sighed and ran a hand through his greying brown hair. How long had he been like this? Six - Seven months? Seven months was too long for an old man to sit still, watching others continue their lives. It felt like a lifetime. However, he had no right to leave - even if he wanted to. Of course, he hated the _'Cave' _- what others had called the great slab of concrete which was their rightful home. The air always smelt of blood, damp, and pollution. He preferred the country-side, lush with yellow wheat, green grass, fruitful trees, and cloudless blue sky. But no, the Cave was his home. He belonged at the Cave where he could watch others. Always watching, barely ever actually moving. No, this was not a life an old man should be forced to tolerate, but he had no choice. Here, he was safe. No one could find him here. It was why he couldn't leave. Not yet, anyway.

Abruptly, the steel door - the only entrance to the room - clanged open. A girl with beautiful ringlets of petite brown hair flowing past her shoulders stepped into the room, her eyes fixed on the old man. Almost instantly, she bowed then rose, knowing full well that the man hadn't even seen it - or was refusing to register her company.

"Father," she spoke in a deep, feminine tone.

There was silence as the man turned away from the window, glancing around the room as if he was just realizing where he was before his deep brown eyes met hers. He gave a nod, accepting her presence, before letting a deep smile crack his face.

"Jane," he purred humbly, rising from his seat gracefully. Suddenly, his eyes morphed from deep brown to a violent yellow. "It is so good to see you."

"Father!" the girl cried out as she ran to him, her arms wrapping around his neck in an affectionate hug, a gesture he returned by wrapping his arms around her shoulders. As she stepped away, her eyes, once a startling hazel, transferred to a bottomless, deep black.

"I bring news," she told him excitedly, digging through her jean pockets to exhibit three photographs.

The old man smiled warmly, his eyes furrowed in curiosity as she surrendered one of the pictures. "I found this person when making a detour through Kansas," she explained proudly. "She seems familiar, don't you agree?"

All of a sudden, the man let out a gasp as he looked at the photograph. The girl's eyes narrowed in confusion and worry as her father's mouth slackened in shock. "Father?" she inquired gently, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Abruptly, his gaze shot to her, his frown deepening in authority. "Get your sister!" he ordered firmly. "Maria is up in her room."

When the girl didn't move, the old man yelled, _"Get her, now!"_

Quickly obliging his request, she darted away, terrified of her father's sudden change in mood. The old man held the photograph in front of him, shaking his head.

_It can't be her..._ he thought wishfully. _She... We would have known..._

Instantly, he exited the room and made his way down several bleak halls before entering an olden-style elevator which had seen better days. Punching the down button, he glared at the coloured piece of plastic.

_Let there be a flaw... _he begged. _Let this be a trick of the light._

The elevator bell suddenly dinged to herald the arrival of the intended destination. As soon as the doors opened, a blast of excruciatingly hot air filled the tiny compartment. The old man quickly exited and made his way down an iron path, suspended in the air by only several thick wires hanging from the roof. Around him, fire escalated, freely exploding from the depths below as screams of unbearable torture rang throughout the large space. The cavern surrounding him was the reason the cement city building had been given the nickname of the Cave. The walls were no longer cement, but secure earth holding the room in place. The room itself was nothing but a cave of punishment for those who had betrayed the demons' code of law.

Arriving at the end of the pathway, he found a large steel door - much bigger than his own room's - and pounded upon it roughly, the heat from the cavern causing the steel to burn his hand. Almost instantly, the door swung open to reveal two muscular guards protecting the room from intrusion.

"Move," the old man ordered sternly, barely needing to say anything for the guards to let him pass. At an almost running pace, the old man entered a small room, an even larger set of doors looming ahead of him. Throwing out his arms, he shoved the doors, causing them to swing open. The room was large, but it did not consist of very many pieces of furniture - only the bare necessities. Like his own room, there was a window - however, much larger than his - with a steel chair situated in front of it. The view was not pleasant. There were no buildings of such an immense height that they threatened to break through the sky - there was only an unforgiving dark, so deep that anything may have been waiting several inches beyond the pane of glass. But that's not what he was there for. It was the very, _very_ old-looking man situated in front of it that he was after. The very old man had untouched silver hair falling in wiry strands down his back. His hands consisted of nothing more than malicious liver spots and tough skin stretching across the knuckles. But, by far, his face was the feature that spoke most of his age. It was not crumpled, such as an eighty year-old's, but seemed more like rubber. The skin was smoothed across his forehead, the white skull shining beneath. His eyes were shallow pits of grey. His nose was crooked, bent subtly out of shape, overshadowing lips that were cracked creases of flesh, dried blood marking the abrasions. The intruder hesitated for a second, listening to the much laboured breathing of the figure before him. It was hard to believe that the live, decaying body in the chair was only forty-or-so years old.

This dying man was his younger brother - the ruler of what once was an all-powerful kingdom for demons, or so he used to proclaim when it had not been such a laborious task for him to speak.

The yellow-eyed intruder coughed quietly to announce his presence. He didn't expect a welcome and wasn't shocked when it didn't come.

"Brother," the old man said softly, stepping closer then bending so that he was kneeling on the floor beside the chair. "I bring news."

Very slowly, the sitting man turned his head, the bones crackling in his neck as if he were snapping the fragile frame. The squatting man refused to cough and choke out of respect as the foul stench of ancient breath hit him in the face. A thick, gruesomely bluish slug of a tongue protruded from the cracked lips, gently wiping over the dried blood to ease the pain of the afflicted flesh.

Without faltering, the kneeling man smoothed the wrinkles from the photograph before holding it in front of the seated man. The shallow pits of grey squinted, trying to see what was being shown. Suddenly, his eyes widened. His long nimble fingers dug into the chair, splintering his fingernails as he glowered at the picture.

_"Her..." _he rasped angrily, the pinkish-blue slug wiping across his lips faster.

"I'm surprised you recognized her," the other man commented, gazing at the picture. "It's been six years since she left." He tried to pull the photograph away but the sitting man's talon of a hand grabbed his wrist.

_"She's alive!" _he whispered harshly, his foul breath flowing over the picture. _"Six years and she's still alive!"_

"Correct," the other sighed, finally managing to pull his hand away. "I'll send my children to finish her. That way, she'll be dead by morning."

_"No." _The elderly-looking man chuckled softly, the gesture sounding like a choking cat. _"I'll finish her."_

"How can you finish her?" The kneeling man stood. He wiped his knees before snidely commenting, "You can barely walk."

Chuckling more fiercely, the sitting man then erupted into a fit of coughing. _"Prepare a new body for me,"_ he ordered, an eerie skeleton-like grin across his face.

The news startled the yellow-eyed man. Ever since _she_ had left, his brother had refused to eat, move, or even sleep. After many years of doing nothing, his younger brother had been reduced to a pathetic, near-death form. If there was one person that could bring him back from the dead, it would be _her_.

"I'll have a body ready in an hour."

As the yellow-eyed man turned to go, once again, he felt the vice-like talon grip his elbow. _"I will finish... her," _the sitting man wheezed as he struggled to stand. _"Even if I... don't personally... do it, I... will make sure... I have my... revenge..."_

"Sit down! You're going to kill yourself--"

"_Release... Jamison...upon... _her_..."_ the man ordered as he coughed and spluttered. For a second, he stopped, his suffocating coughs replaced by an unnatural grin of black, hollow teeth and wide blood-shot eyes. _"_She_... will die... the most... horrific and... tortourous death... a demon... can suffer..."_

**R+R please!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Deadly Betrayal**

**So I finally get the next chapter up. I slacked off for three weeks because I wasn't here for one of them, the second one was a holiday (Yeh, I finally get time to write my fanfiction and I couldn't be bothered. Typical.), and the third was back to school after the term break. Eeep... Teachers -- shudders --. It did take a long time to write this chapter because it was really, really hard to write for some reason. The first copy of this chapter was going to be about thirty pages long and there's no way I was going to do thirty pages if not all of it was essential to the story. So, alas, those extra scenes will probably crop up later in the story (I hope). Also, I had a bit of writer's block about five sentences away from finishing the chapter. Me: o0 You're such a noob, Rebecca -- whacks head --. On another note, my Internet is still angry at me. However, I did fix it for a day when I called up and whined to a woman on the other end of the line. They must've hated me because the moment I fixed one problem, another emerged. DAMN YOU, TECHNOLOGY! **

**Just like to give a big thanks to my beta (poor girl must be dying from betaring my chapters in a space of a night). You know I appreciate all the work you've done!**

**Another huge thanks (and a temporary Spiderman tattoo - dude, I love what cereal companies give you when they're having promotions!) to the reviewers because you have been waiting so long for this chapter. I've also had some really interesting insights from a couple of people. A lot of people loved the stomach-eating bananas (typical Dean), and there's a few questions about who Jamison is. I can answer all of them in one sentence: He's not a very nice guy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own Supernatural. But I really, really, really, really, really, really wish I could own the boys so I could kick them in the head every time they slept with a random. I swear, one of them must have STD's by now. Oh, but I do own three temporary Spiderman tattoos. -- scratches head -- ... Okay, moving on... **

**Warnings: Here we go again... THE NEXT FEW CHAPTERS HAVE MAJOR THEMES. THEY MAY BE OFFENSIVE TO A VARIETY OF PEOPLE. I AM WARNING YOU NOW BECAUSE IT WILL BE DARK AND NASTY. This chapter has violent themes, swearing, and mentions of rape.**

**Chapter 15**

The afternoon was pleasant and peaceful as noisy crickets chirped the near-coming arrival of night. A beautiful purple-pink light shone through the window into the kitchen, illuminating the empty glasses upon the table so that the back wall was glittering in a glorious assortment of dazzling colours. There was barely a sound from within the room as Beclyn sat at the table, skimming the pages of a thick book she had borrowed from the local library under the name of 'Sharlet Milrow'. The pages were old, crinkled, and yellowing from age. Inside was an array of news clippings on past car accidents. Luckily for her, some had photographs, but none reminded her of the one she had seen in her flashback. Sighing, she closed the book and gazed out into the placid afternoon. There were no disturbing sounds of traffic or voices; there was only the breath-taking scenery of far-off mountains looming in the distance. It calmed her for a second to know that there was nothing to be hunted tonight. There was no preparing weapons to destroy a creature from the darkness or the uncomfortable stature of hiding in dusty, haunted houses. The only thing to be done was research on a topic she had long forbidden herself to explore - her family.

Ever since she could remember, she never knew her parents. She didn't know their names, what they looked like, why they left her to fight in the world alone, or even if they had ever actually existed. Until now.

Her last flashback had revealed new pathways as to how she could figure out her past. She didn't have much information - only what they looked like, where they had been, which car they were driving, and that she had an elder cousin named Sarah. But that was more than plenty for Beclyn Jones to research by. So far she had found out that the accident had occurred on a late early-winter's night, the road had been somewhere close to Canada, and that the crash had happened twenty-two years ago.

Nervously chewing on her fingernails, she closed the book and tried to think. Suddenly, she was interrupted as Sam waltzed into the kitchen, a bag of groceries hoisted over his shoulder in a lazy manner. Feeling annoyed at being disturbed, Beclyn watched him reproachfully.

"Hey, Bec," Sam greeted warmly, not even bothering to pause for Beclyn to answer as he knew she would not do so nicely. "You researching something?"

Reaching into the plastic bag, Sam retrieved a carton of juice. Popping the cap and peeling back the freshness seel, he stole a glance at the open book she had on the table. He hesitated; suddenly feeling awkward as an article named 'Horrendous Car Crashes of the 80's by Harriett Pergins' caught his eye. That article could only mean she was researching the one thing that he really needed to talk to her about. Sam sipped at his apple juice nervously before launching into his speech by saying, "Look, Beclyn. I never had the chance to apologize about your parents and how they--"

"Save it," Beclyn snapped, slamming the book shut with a loud smack.

"No, I really mean it. I thought you knew that they were... and that you were only lying because..." Sam ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. "Look, I think it's perfectly normal to try and find details about your long-lost parents. You must want to know everything about them, right? I mean... When I found out how Mum died, I wanted to know everything about--"

Sam gave a shocked jump as Beclyn abruptly stood and threw back her chair. The piece of furniture crashed into the wall, splintering slightly as it fell in a cloud of stirred dust.

"_Will you shut up?" _Beclyn roared. She stood stiffly, feeling foolish like a child who was being taught where babies come from. "I really don't give a _fuck_ about what you think. I don't give a _damn _about my parents. My parents are _nothing _to me. They wanted to go ahead and die? Fine with me. They're _traitors_ for leaving their daughter behind."

Grabbing the book from the table, Beclyn stomped to Sam and roughly heaved the book at his chest.

"There. Go ahead. Maybe you'll find an article called _'Girl Left to Die for Several Years After Parents Die in Car Crash that Nobody Fucking Cares About'_."

She glowered with all of her energy, trembling as fury pumped through her veins, controlling her. Sam felt himself shrink several feet as she clenched her fists and whispered harshly, "As far as I'm concerned, they _deserved _to die."

Without another word, she turned and strut from the kitchen, muttering insults as she left. Sam stared for a while, too afraid to move incase she sensed it in the creepy way she always did and came back to finish him off. After a few minutes, when he knew the sign was clear, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed, "God, no wonder she's the way she is."

- - -

Dean was annoyed. No, _pissed off_ more suited his emotions as he cleaned his shotgun with an intense desire to destroy whatever had caused them to switch bodies earlier. Of course, he had already switched back to his old self that morning, but that didn't stop him. The main fact that was egging him on was what Missouri had said.

_"...This is powerful magic... To tell you the truth, sweethearts, I think you are in over your heads..."_

_After everything I've done, after everything I've killed, she doesn't think I'm strong enough to waste one witch, _Dean told himself inside his head. _Well, news for you, Missouri, I can kill this bitch. I will rip its grotty, supernatural head off, then laugh as I toast its remains. Then we'll see who's strong enough. Then we'll see who's at the top of their game. Nobody and nothing will beat me, the almighty Dean Winchester, when I swear revenge and--_

"...stupid Goddamn frigging Sam thinks he can control my frigging life with a frigging twist of his finger. I don't give a frigging fuck about my parents and who they were. Why the hell should I? It just takes a frigging jerk like Sam to think that he knows me because he's frigging lost people before. God, what a frigging loser!" Beclyn mumbled grumpily as she stalked from the kitchen into the oh-so-_small_ lounge room which barely had enough space for a television let alone a couch.

Dean glanced up to observe the flustered girl as she stomped to the couch, kicked his well-polished, large knife collection from the seat then plonked down onto the stiff chair.

"Do you mind?" he yelled as his precious knives fell to the floor in a clatter. "I need those to kill the witch that made us change--"

"Oh, no, you don't!" Beclyn retaliated with equal intensity and pitch. "Your witch said that hunting that witch would take too long and she told us that the potion was completely harmless so--"

"Are you telling me that you _want _this witch to walk free?" Dean accused, his finger raised to point threateningly at her.

"I don't _want_ it to get away," Beclyn corrected, her lip twisted in a deep scowl of rising fury. "I just don't want to waste the next ten years of my life hunting down something when I have better plans."

"Oh," Dean suddenly smirked, knowing exactly what would rile her up. Maybe then, she would want to waste the witch that turned her into a guy for a few days. "So you're a wimp, then? You know that you can't do it so you're just gonna let somebody else take the glory. You're not _strong _enough to--"

The explosion from Beclyn was almost instant. Her cheeks faded to scarlet and her nails drew blood from her palms through her clenched fists as her tension hit Dean like an atom bomb.

"YOU DON'T THINK I'M STRONG ENOUGH?! I'LL TEAR IT TO FUCKING PIECES THEN RESURRECT IT SO I CAN DO IT OVER, AND OVER AGAIN! DON'T SIT THERE AND ACCUSE ME OF BEING A WIMP WHEN I'M NOT THE ONE CRYING OVER LITTLE, OLD, DEAD MUMMY AND LITTLE, OLD, LOST DADDY!"

"Beclyn?" Sam called from the doorway, unheard, of course, as Beclyn continued to roar at his older brother who was standing his ground but losing his stance by the moment. Sam's eyes widened in shock as Beclyn lifted a shaking finger and prodded Dean painfully in the chest with it. From the way that Dean was wincing and very quickly losing his argument, she may as well have been stabbing him with a knife.

Trying to back away, Dean almost slid off the couch before Beclyn grabbed the front of his shirt and spat at him in the face.

"Beclyn, what are you--" Sam started, running to help his brother as Dean scrambled to get away from the furious dark-haired brunette.

Dean raised his arms and pushed Beclyn as hard as he could, sending her sprawling back onto the couch. She instantly climbed to her feet, ready to swing her fist into his jaw before Sam lurched in between them and held up his hands in truce to try and calm the murderous competitors.

"Calm down!" Sam pleaded to his two companions who were only separated by him - which Sam suddenly realized did not seem to be a very safe place to be. "Okay? Tell me what happened. Why are you trying to kill each other?"

He suddenly regretted it as a roaring match of who could tell their version of the story first erupted.

"HE CALLED ME A WIMP--"

"SHE SAID THAT THE WITCH IS HARMLESS--"

"HE SAID I WANTED IT TO GET AWAY--"

"SHE SAID I'M MOPING OVER MUM AND--"

"HE CALLED ME LAZY!"

"SHE ACCUSED ME OF NOT BEING GOOD ENOUGH!"

"THAT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE _NOT _GOOD ENOUGH! YOU JUST SIT THERE--"

"OH, IT'S BETTER THAN YOU, CRY BABY! EVERY TIME I SAY SOMETHING YOU MARCH OFF TO THE BATHROOM!"

"YOU WANT FUCKING PMS? FINE! I'LL GIVE YOU FUCKING PMS!"

"GUYS!" Sam yelled over the top of them, silencing them for the moment. When he had their attention, he shook his head and told them in a hushed voice, "We don't need to yell. Can we just stop arguing?"

"But she said--"

"But he said--"

"It doesn't matter," Sam cooed them. Lowering his hands, he sighed dramatically. "Dean, fighting isn't going to help find the witch, and Beclyn, you're just picking a fight because you're upset. Why don't we have some quiet time, okay? I mean, come on, you're acting like five-year olds."

Beclyn inhaled a deep breath then turned away from both of the men, her arms crossed stubbornly. "He started it," she accused.

"I did not!" Dean began to roar again.

"Dean--" Sam tried to calm him but his brother wasn't showing any attention.

"She blames me all the time! What the hell did I do? All I wanted to do was to toast the witch and all she wants to do is sleep all day! Who's the lazy one in that scenario?"

"You see!" Beclyn swished back around and lifted a finger to point at the yelling man. "He called me lazy! Newsflash, Dean Winchester, I have better things to do than hunt something that small! You just call me lazy because I'm a girl and you don't think girls are strong enough to protect themselves!"

"You calling me _sexist _now?" Dean gasped disbelievingly. With a wave of his hand, he tried to block her from his eyesight, wishing that she would just turn and leave.

"Dean," Sam broke into the quarrel once again, trying desperately for things to be quiet, "we understand that you want to hunt the witch, but just remember that Missouri said to leave it. Not because you're not strong enough, but because the witch might be _anywhere_. What would happen if they were in another country?"

"Taiwanese, Chinese, French, Egyptian - I don't care! I'll still toast the witch!"

"No, you don't get me," Sam explained softly, hoping that he could try and get it through to his brother if he reduced it to a preschooler's logic. "_If_ the witch is in another country, you're going to have to _fly. _As in, get on a _plane_."

Dean stopped. His eyes widened slightly as he gazed at his brother. The revelation suddenly hit him like a semi-trailer. "Oh," he muttered quietly.

"Yeah, you get it now, Dean," Sam soothingly said to the older man, knowing that he had calmed. "Is it really worth facing your greatest fear just to--"

"Now, wait a second!" Dean suddenly burst. "I am _not _afraid of--"

"Dean has a fear of _flying_?!"

Both men turned to look at the dumbfounded girl.

"Dean Winchester - slayer of all things dark and evil, crusader for good, ego the size of his penis, and you're telling me he's afraid to _fly_?" she emphasized, gazing disbelievingly between the two men.

"Yeah, pretty sad, isn't it?" Sam nodded sympathetically. "You see, a couple of months ago, we had to do this gig where a demon had taken over a plane--"

"_I am not afraid of flying!_" Dean yelled with all his might, silencing his brother. "I don't even see why you're calling me sad when you're the one that's afraid of anything that moves!"

"I am not," Sam answered incredulously.

"Oh, yeah?" Dean held up his hand then raised his pointer finger. "Number one: you're afraid of the dark." He lifted a second finger, his face contorted into a glare that said '_you shouldn't have said anything, Sam, cause now you're gonna pay'._ "Number two: you're afraid of the boogeyman." He raised another finger. "Number three: when you were six, you were afraid of the tooth fairy."

Sam shook his head, a skeptical grin plastered across his face as he turned to Beclyn. "I was not afraid of the tooth fairy--"

"Oh, come on, Sam!" Dean snapped, his vision glaring into the back of his brother's head. "You were scared shitless that she would come in the middle of the night and steal your teeth while you were sleeping. You weren't the poor guy who had to stand guard for two hours each night outside your bedroom door just so the '_scary fairy_' didn't come!"

"Hey, you _offered _to do that!"

"Number four," Dean continued, ignoring his flustered brother, "do you remember a show named '_Pokemon_'?"

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Sam said with an embarrassed laugh.

"Yeah, I thought the same thing when I saw a _fifteen-year_ _old_ running for his life, proclaiming that the pokemon were out to get him. Come on, dude, _Pikachu _has feelings too."

"It was _Charizard!_" Sam defended himself, becoming more flustered by the second.

"Whatever. Number five: - oh, this one's a killer - _clowns_, for God's sakes."

"What's there not to fear about clowns?" Sam yelled, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks.

"Oh, come on - _clowns!_ They make you laugh and they cheer you up!" Dean taunted. "What's wrong, Sammy? Afraid that a lil', old clown will carve your--"

"This _is_ stupid," Beclyn suddenly sighed, bringing her hand to the bridge of her nose in impatience.

Dean raised his head to glare at her, his lips forming a sneer. "Oh, what - you don't have a fear?"

"That's right," she answered simply. She lowered her hands to her hips, her glower meeting his in an invitation to rise to the challenge. "I'm not scared of _anything_."

"Oh, that's bullshi--"

"You accusing me of _lying _now?"

"No, I'm accusing you of being a bullshit artist - _of course _I'm calling you a liar!"

"You're no better, Mr_. High-and-Mighty Dean-the-Womanizer!"_

Rubbing his temples, Sam listened to the couple continue their screaming match. Dean was becoming red in the face as his argument was slowly trailing down hill while Beclyn continued to build her temper through his accusations and lies.

"Oh, I GIVE UP!" Dean abruptly threw his hands in the air and stomped off to the bathroom in defeat.

"Yeah," Beclyn snidely retorted towards him, "and you accuse _me_ of running to the bathroom whenever something's been said."

Her only answer was a door slam as Dean ignored her. Sam heaved a sigh then started, "Beclyn--"

"No, I don't give a fuck, Sam!" Beclyn cried angrily. "You're just gonna tell me some bullshit about how I'm messed up and your brother's temperamental and we should all make up and forget about the whole thing, but I'm not, Sam! He called me _lazy!_"

Sam gazed at her, knowing that she was still riled up, but he had to say something anyway, even if he already knew the answer. "Actually," he said softly, lowering himself to sit on the couch, "I was going to ask how you're feeling."

"None of your Goddamn business," she retaliated nastily before falling to the couch and crossing her arms. "Why don't you go comfort your brother, circus freak? I'm sure he's in there right now, crying over how depressed he is and slitting his wrists."

"Well, actually... no," Sam corrected, making sure he didn't try to press any buttons to set her off again in an aggressive yelling match. "Usually after a fight, he has a hot shower--"

_"BECLYN!" _

Dean's furious, panicked voice erupted from the bathroom, silencing Sam.

Sniggering, Beclyn sighed and muttered, "I guess he just found the smiley-face I drew on his ass with a permanent marker. Bet Mr. _Dean-the-Womanizer_ will find that a killer with the ladies."

- - -

_The Cave_

The yellow-eyed man leaned against the moldy wall, gazing off into space as we waited for his brother to return in his new form. It had been two hours since he had spoken with his brother. For such a long time, the yellow-eyed man had believed that his brother - the ruler of demons - would die in the chair by the window just because something as minor as _her_ would go wrong. But then again, _she _wasn't _minor_ in any way at all. _She _was the reason that eleven years ago his brother did not lose complete reign over the kingdom. Before his brother had met _her_, he was becoming too temperamental to control the massive hordes of demons without accidentally killing thousands of his minions in one blow. Eleven years ago, the yellow-eyed man had always been worried that he would watch his children die in the hands of his blood-relation. It was something he was not prepared for, as a father, to watch his children grow within the protection of his caring embrace to only have them slaughtered by a higher demon who had _anger issues_.

Two guards stood by the entrance door, awaiting their master's return. The room was large enough to only hold ten people. The walls were damp, green with mould and residue, and stank of curdled blood. Aside from the entrance, there was a slippery, stone staircase leading down a darker tunnel. Even from within the dark room, roars of agony and terrible fury rose from the descending stairs. The yellow-eyed man scowled sourly. He didn't believe Jamison needed to become involved. Sending Jamison to kill _her_ was similar to ordering a dozen packs of blood-thirsty wolves to devour a single bunny. He just didn't see the point in sending the world's greatest torture device to murder a single human. The yellow-eyed man had not a clue what his brother's plans were for _her_, but he knew for a fact that Jamison enjoyed torturing his victims slowly - excruciatingly to the point where the terrorized would lose their minds. Jamison was useful as a lethal punishment for demons who had committed treason against the kingdom.

_Jamison can tear a demon in half, destroy their beliefs, will to live, and hope of ever being resurrected. It makes the list of what he could do to a single human endless, _the yellow-eyed man thought.

Suddenly, the entrance door opened to reveal a handsome, black-haired man in matching clothing. A midnight-black cloak swirled around his ankles as he quickly entered the room, his stride determined for only one goal.

"Brother?" the yellow-eyed man asked the stranger, his vision abruptly checking to see if he had a weapon in case he was someone else. The Cave had never been the same, safe haven as it had been six years ago.

The newly-entered man cracked a not entirely warm smile as he answered simply, "In the new flesh."

It was startling how his voice had changed from a husky, dying croak of an old man to a firm, masculine chuckle of a man who looked no older than thirty. Almost instantly, the new comer began to descend the stairs, his pace hurried and excited.

"Brother!" the yellow-eyed man quickly followed, the guards not bothering to join them as there were several dozens waiting at the end of the steps. "Brother, I wish to discuss this matter."

"Oh?" his companion answered coyly, his gaze fixed ahead.

"I just want to know," the yellow-eyed man continued, hoping his voice didn't waver through anxiety or fear, "why after all this time you hunt _her_. _She_ has been missing for six years and only now do you care whether _she_ lives or dies."

Continuing his stride, the other sniggered. "_She's_ been missing for six years, yes. If I am not mistaken, it was _you_ who used to report to me and state that _she _was no where to be found. Do you think that if _she_ had been sighted sooner I would not have sent my armies?"

"This is not an army!" The yellow-eyed man lurched around and grabbed his brother by the shirt. "This is _Jamison!_ Believe me, brother, I mean this in no offense, but more than once I have questioned your sanity and this just proves my fears. You have lost your mind! Jamison is the greatest torture device this realm has come to know and you are just willing to use all of his power on a _human_?"

Instantly, the yellow-eyed man felt himself thrown back against the wall, his bones straining under an increasing pressure. From his position, he could only see the lower half of his brother. Very slowly, his attacker stepped into the light. His face was contorted in fury whilst his hands shook with adrenalin. His eyes which had been a dull grey had morphed into a glowing, sharp silver which narrowed at him angrily.

"Do you _dare_ question my orders?" the man snapped in an eerie, echoing yell.

The yellow-eyed man gaped, then shook his head slowly. "N-No. Of course not," he whispered.

Suddenly, he felt himself fall to the ground, free of the restraints he had only moments before. The other man smirked then straightened his clothes as his eyes faded back to their original colour. "Brother, you know as well as I that _she _is no mere human. Are you not forgetting _her _missions, fights, and attacks? _She _was destined to have as much power as us - the most powerful demons in the world. What if _she_ still has that power? What if _she_ has been contributing to it? The results would be immense."

"_She_ could only have that power if _she _continued drinking human blood," the yellow-eyed man pointed out as he struggled to stand.

He felt two hands grab his shoulders and lift him to his feet, startling him greatly as his brother clasped him on the shoulder after helping him.

"Who is to say that _she_ hasn't?" his brother explained. "Who is to say that _she _hasn't joined an underground society plotting against us?"

"But sending your own son to destroy her?" the yellow-eyed demon questioned skeptically. "Believe me, brother, powerful demon-like humans _do not _spend their time in pubs. My daughter could have been mistaken - it may not have been _her." _

A sudden, loud roar silenced the men as it echoed from further in the tunnel.

Sighing, the younger of the brothers began to walk towards the intended destination, feeling slightly disheveled. "It doesn't matter. I wish to have _her_ killed. Must you blame me for doing it in the most enjoyable way possible for myself _and_ my son?"

The yellow-eyed man snorted in disgust. "_'Enjoyable' _for Jamison is rape torture - you know that."

"Oh, come now!" His brother laughed heartily before saying, "Just because you were never a fan of watching the trials--"

"Well, excuse me for not enjoying watching female demons have their immortal soul torn from their human bodies as your son or otherwise known as that--" Another roar echoed down the tunnel, vibrating the walls. "--_monster _penetrates them and has his way with them while practically eating them alive. Pardon me for saying, brother, but I do believe that is what humans like to call _'porn'_."

"You only say that because your daughter came awfully close to receiving the punishment," his brother pointed out in a harsh taunt.

The yellow-eyed man almost stopped in his tracks. "Yes, there was that, too," he muttered somberly.

_My poor, sweet, little, insane Maria, _the yellow-eyed man thought sadly to himself. _To think you were charged with treason and were going to receive the rape torture all because of _her.

"What about the _prophecy_?"

"Sod the prophecy!" his brother yelled, angered by the mere remembrance of the God-forsaken vision. He would not have helped _her_ had it not have been for the prophecy, and he regretted ever being fooled into such a belief.

"I do have a question," the yellow-eyed man said in a huff as he caught up with his brother. "How are you going to launch Jamison upon _her_? I think people will notice something as... _different_ as your son."

Once again, the yellow-eyed man halted as a vial was shoved into his face.

"A potion?" he inquired doubtfully.

"Not a potion," his brother corrected, not being able to hide his excitement. "It may seem like it but it doesn't need to be consumed to take effect." Recommencing his pace, he explained further, "It's fool-proof and the best thing is that I can watch as _she_ slowly dies. He will be able to use weapons, devices - interesting objects to make it all worthwhile." Stopping at a door, a fearsome grin spread across his face, scaring his elder brother. "And the best thing is," he muttered in an excited whisper, "_she _will be defenseless. Not only that, but _she _won't be able to call for help."

Then he opened the door and disappeared through into the horror which lurked within.

- - -

Dean had ignored Beclyn ever since he had come into the kitchen for a bottle of mentholated spirits and a scrubbing brush to rid himself of his new '_tattoo_'. If, when had to, his main form of communication with her had become grunts and snorting growls. Beclyn didn't care. As far as she was concerned, a hangover was a lot worse than a silly tattoo. Alas, they barely exchanged words - even when it was time to go to bed. Sam had been assigned sleeping duty (to which Beclyn had proclaimed, "See! I told you Dean thinks girls are weaker than guys!").

Falling into bed, Beclyn stared at the ceiling as her eyes became droopy. It wasn't until after Sam's sports watch beeped the arrival of eleven o'clock that Beclyn finally fell asleep.

- - -

The house was cold and full of drafts. The wooden floors did nothing to protect the room from the blowing gale outside as Beclyn rubbed her arms to try and provide warmth. There wasn't much to see as the entrance hall had barely any pieces of furniture. Past a doorway to her left, there was a dusty-looking kitchen which was in real need for renovation. Through an open door to her right, there was a small living room with only a large window for entertainment. Once again, a gust of icy wind blew through the house, freezing Beclyn to the bone. It didn't help that there were no visible lights to switch on and provide even a dim glow. However, there was a flickering orange light coming from upstairs. Beginning to shiver from the cold, Beclyn realized she should have worn something more than a flimsy black shirt and jeans as she began to climb the staircase. The wooden steps creaked in stubborn protest as she gripped the banister. Upon arrival at the last stair, she saw that there were only two rooms on the second floor. At the end of a short hall, there was a room with a closed door, warning all those who spied it not to enter. The golden glow was casting from underneath the doorframe from the only other closed door. Beclyn hesitated. The house was dark, foreboding, and desolate. She wished she had a weapon but found only her fists as protection. Inhaling a deep breath, she reached for the doorknob. She turned it quickly then almost stumbled into the room as the door swung open with barely a protest. The room, like the rest of the house, was wooden. There was a rickety, iron bed in the middle of the room, pushed close to a small fireplace which was providing gorgeous warmth to Beclyn's freezing skin. Stepping into the room and closing the door behind her, she was just about to cross the room to the fireplace when something else caught her eye. Beclyn suddenly let out a loud gasp as she saw a figure facing a window, forehead almost touching the glass as he gazed out over the front yard.

"How the hell--" she started, backing against a wall.

_How the hell could I not have seen him?_ She asked herself, staring at the man.

The room wasn't large so Beclyn found herself gaping as to how she had completely missed the masculine, tall figure. Luckily for her, he hadn't have seemed to notice he was no longer alone. For a second, Beclyn questioned herself as to if he was even alive. He hadn't moved at all. It was only when she saw the glass fog from where he was breathing hot air onto the window that she realized he wasn't dead. She studied him carefully, taking in every part of him which she could see. His back was turned to her - allowing her to view his tanned skin - rippled and bulging from muscles as it lay naked in the firelight. A pair of very dark blue jeans concealed what lay below his beltline. His hands were grasping the side of the window frame, tensed as if he were poised to attack. He didn't look comfortable, but she couldn't tell due to the fact that his face was concealed in an oddly-placed shadow from outside.

"Look," Beclyn suddenly broke out in an aggressive, authoritive voice, hoping she didn't sound scared from her sudden shock. "I don't know who you are, but you have no right--"

She expected the man to turn, his hands out-stretched saying, "_Whoa, whoa, whoa. I have no idea what you're talking about...", _but he didn't. He was still facing the window, his muscles clenching tightly then relaxing with every inhaled breath.

"I'm just letting you know now," Beclyn continued, a condescending edge to her tone, "I don't give a damn about who you _think_ you are. If you think you're going to get something from me, then you're completely out of your league." Placing her hands on her hips, she glowered nastily, trying to break his silence. Beclyn didn't tolerate silence well. "Are you even listening to me?" she questioned, wondering if she would get a response if she were to kick him in a place which had been proven to be effectively painful on men.

Losing the last of her patience, she stomped forward, her arm outstretched to grab him by the shoulder and swish him around. Suddenly, she stopped. The room had become noticeably darker. Even the luxurious warmth she had felt before had seeped from the room. Hand still outstretched, she glanced towards the fire, realizing that the flames had fallen to nothing but ashes. The cold swept around her, causing her breath to catch in her throat.

_What the hell is going on? _She asked herself.

"Do you feel that--" Beclyn started but then let out a loud shriek as the man turned and lunged at her.

Beclyn's eyes widened as he shoved her against the wall, his fingers twisting around her throat, choking her. It was then that she received a full view of his face. His square jaw was clenched while spit flew from his mouth with each exhaled breath. He looked like an _animal_ - something ferocious and _hungry_. But it was his eyes which horrified her the most. They were dark to the point of almost black, although she could still see the enraged pupils.

It was then that she realized that he looked _familiar_.

"Who are you?!" Beclyn cried out, thrashing to try and push him away. She gasped in pain as fingernails clawed into her skin, tearing to try and expose the nerves.

"Wait!" Beclyn begged, her breath snagging in her throat as his hand tightened around her neck. "Wait!"

"I've been waiting for so long." The man's stagnant breath wafted over her. The stench of rotten flesh and metallic blood almost overwhelmed Beclyn as she continued to struggle to break free. Suddenly, something sharp penetrated Beclyn's side, making her scream in pain. She glanced down, choking for breath. She let out a short gasp as she realized that he had stabbed her. Warm, sticky blood began to stream under her shirt from where a wooden-handled knife was protruding. The man grinned sadistically before grabbing the knife roughly and slowly forcing it deeper into her stomach.

"_No!" _Beclyn had barely a moment to cry out as the knife sliced deeper into the soft tissue. Gritting her teeth against the excruciating pain, she tried to suck in a breath but the hand remained tight around her throat. Small beads of sweat dampened her forehead as she tried to wrench his hand from her neck.

_Need... to... breathe... _Beclyn whimpered in her mind, losing strength too quickly to kick or fight in any way.

She felt terrified, wondering what was going on and why she was being attacked. She felt she could do nothing. The sudden feeling of helplessness struck a paralyzing fear into her nerves.

The man's carnivorous grin grew larger while his eyes widened in amusement as a tear slowly trickled down the left side of her cheek.

_Air! _Beclyn screamed inside her head. _I need air or I'm going to die! _

"_Stop..._" she croaked hopelessly, her vision beginning to blur as the last of her oxygen seeped away. Her hands weakened from his as they became cold, clammy and useless. She could hardly feel the second tear streak down her cheek and fall to her black shirt, mixing with the overwhelming substance of blood. It was what the man had been waiting for. His hand suddenly removed itself from her neck, the knife wedged in her stomach along with it.

Beclyn shook violently before losing contact with the wall. She couldn't control herself as she collapsed to the ground in a dull _thunk_. Her hand moved laboriously to her wounded side as she sniffed back the rest of her unfallen tears. "Who..." she strained to whisper, her throat burning from the lack of air. "Who are you?"

Swiftly, he bent down, brought his hand to her chin and clenched it tightly. His eyes took every part of her in, feeling excitement as she cringed.

"You can not remember me," he said in a taunting, hushed voice. "But I remember _you_."

He stroked her face tenderly with a tip of a finger, smiling like a deranged murderer as she scrunched her eyes shut so she couldn't see him. "You are a traitor. And traitors _must _be punished."

He moved his hand once again to her throat, feeling the rapidly pulsing veins beneath her soft, pale skin. "Now listen to me, _chosen one_," he whispered gently as he brought his mouth to her ear. "You _will _be punished. And this time, you _will _die"

Pulling her head back into an awkward position, he licked her neck teasingly, running the tips of his abnormally pointed teeth against her flesh. Her breath exhaled in a shudder, her body shaking in fear as he smirked and pulled away.

"Goodnight, _chosen one_," he muttered into her ear in a soft hush.

Then, in a single twist, he snapped her neck.

- - -

Beclyn woke with a start. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest as her eyes shot around the room to try and find sight of the insane psychopath. It took her a second to realize that she wasn't in the creaking wooden house with the man. She was in the filthy motel room. Soft snores from Sam came from beside the bed, evidence that he was sleeping quite well. Beclyn lay still then groaned. Her head ached as her joints protested even with the slightest of movement.

_Damn it, _Beclyn snapped. _What the fuck was that? It was an old house and some stupid freak called-- what the hell was his name? _

Suddenly feeling watched, her eyes once again darted around the room wildly, checking every dark shadow to make sure that she was _actually _alone - apart from her snoring companion. Finally, she let out a large sigh.

_A nightmare, _she thought, trying to calm herself. _A Goddamn nightmare - that's all it was._

Chuckling sourly to herself, she wiped her damp, sweaty hair from her face. Shuffling her head on the pillow, she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm her vivid pulse. Beclyn winced lightly as she accidentally nudged her neck. It felt as if the stupid freak still had his hands clenched around her throat. Beclyn lifted her arm to check that he wasn't actually standing beside the bed, squeezing the life out of her - cringing as she did so as her stomach gave a painful jolt.

"See?" she whispered to herself. "No one there. Just your stupid imagination."

_But it felt so real, _she remembered. _It felt like I was actually there, seeing him, feeling the cold, being defenseless. But of course it did - I haven't had a nightmare in months. Any nightmare would feel real. My neck feels sore because I must've thrashed around. God, I hate nightmares._

Suddenly feeling hot and uncomfortably sticky, she decided that she needed a very, very long shower and a couple of sleeping pills. Tugging at her blankets, she found that they were heavier than before and felt grotesquely damp. Feeling beside the bed for the table lamp, she mumbled impatiently to herself about the pain in her side before turning on the light. Rubbing her eyes, she looked down then let out a loud gasp.

The blankets were soaked with blood.

**So, I haven't formally introduced Jamison. But can we tell that he's a little... weird? I'll try and get the next chapter up ASAP. **

**Although I can't easily access the internet at the moment, I am still checking for reviews. Why? Because **_**somebody **_**out there has to love me... right? Besides, I love questions and queries. That way, I can try to answer any problems.**

**Forgive me if there were any grammar mistakes or sentences didn't make sense!**


	16. Chapter 16

**And I return! –looks down at shoes with guilty look on face—Yes, I know I slacked off for more than a month… This chapter was initially going to be very, very long, but I cut it in half so that it's quicker to post. I really hope you like it!**

**I'd like to thank the reviewers – even the new ones! I love getting reviews because that way I know people actually read the fanfic and like it. Making other people happy makes me feel better! Oh, and if I get reviews, I know what people like, so I make sure to add more about it next time! **

**Warnings: swearing, blood, and gore. Oh, and undescribed nakedness. Meh. **

**Deadly Betrayal **

**Chapter 16**

The blood-soaked blankets were thrown into a black plastic bag labelled '_Need 2 Wash_', then tossed to the side of the room. Beclyn couldn't stand looking at them. They worried her - an emotion she tried very hard to ignore. She nibbled nervously on her fingernails as she sat on the bed, trying not to think about her nightmare and what could be waiting in the shadows of the room. After a few minutes, she spat a twisted, chewed nail from her mouth onto the carpet before standing.

"This is ridiculous," she mocked herself as she roughly grabbed the laundry bag then tossed it into the kitchen. She winced as her side stung with pain. Looking down, she saw that her shirt was sticking to her skin as blood dribbled from a wound in her stomach. Swallowing a gulp of anxiety, she approached the bathroom mirror then removed her shirt to examine the puncture. There was a small, bleeding slit below her ribcage which only exhibited enough pain to allow her notice it. Running the tip of her finger tenderly along the mark, she felt it itch annoyingly. The puncture, to her, wasn't drastically big - nor was it life-threateningly deep. Beclyn had seen her fair share of wounds and knew that the cut wasn't nearly serious enough to cause all of the blood which had been spread over the blankets. She paused, lost in thought as she tried to think where the blood had come from. Her eyes suddenly turning wide, she held the wound then spat, "Oh, _hell no_."

Turning to face her back to the mirror, she glanced down to see that her backside was covered in red.

"Fucking periods!" she hissed under her breath. "These were my very, _very _last pants and now they're ruined until I get them washed. Goddamn it!"

Quickly cleaning the cut in her stomach with warm water and bandages, she quietly retrieved a pair of Sam's jeans from the bedroom, along with a belt. The jeans were far too big. She needed to fold the hems five times before they were just short enough to not trip. The belt wasn't helping at all as she realized that it was only just long enough to clip around her waist, barely making the large pants a comfortable fit. After changing clothes, she re-buttoned her shirt, then turned to walk back into the bedroom. Almost instantly, she felt her chest clench as she came face-to-face with a figure masked in shadows blocking the doorway. Her mouth gaped open as the figure stayed stock-still, not moving at all - just like the freak in her nightmare had remained frozen as he stared out the window. "Y-You--" she started, her feet almost falling from underneath herself. She reached behind her, ready to grab anything that could be used as a weapon when suddenly, the figure raised his hand to his mouth and let out a loud, obnoxious yawn.

"I?" Dean mumbled groggily, folding his arms as he leant against the doorframe. He was wearing long, grey pants with only a loose, cotton shirt to cover his chest.

Beclyn's fear only lasted for another split second before she exhaled her held breath. "It's only you," she muttered under her breath, feeling ashamed as a sensation of relief swept through her.

_Of course it's only him, _she yelled at herself. _Who did I think it was - the freak? God, Beclyn, you're seriously starting to lose it._

Suddenly, the laundry bag filled with bloody blankets was thrown at her feet, the black plastic crinkling as it connected with the murky-cream coloured tiles.

"You threw this at me," Dean accused, his hand reaching up to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

"No, I didn't," Beclyn snapped at him, trying to hide her humiliation at being caught awake in the middle of the night. She just hoped he would leave her alone.

"So..." Dean showed no signs of moving as he glared at her from the only exit. "You gonna tell me why you chucked that at me?"

"I said that I--" she started, her voice rising to defend herself.

"It's a sick, twisted joke to try and get back at someone from an argument by throwing dirty blankets at them," Dean pointed out, his expression not amused in the slightest.

Beclyn let out a frustrated groan as she said, "Who ever said I chucked them at you?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. For almost a second, he looked like he believed her, then he shook his head and muttered, "What's in the bag, anyway?"

"Just stuff that needs to be washed," Beclyn answered simply, not wishing to elaborate.

"Stuff like what?" Dean inquired, leaning down to open the bag. He drew back as Beclyn stomped her foot upon the opening of the plastic, her glare almost daring him to continue.

"_Just stuff that needs to be washed_," she repeated, her tone firmly telling him to back off if he valued his life.

Standing, Dean wiped his hands absent-mindedly on his shirt. "So what are you doing awake in the middle of the night?" he questioned, returning to leaning against the doorframe.

Even though she knew Dean was trying to pester her, Beclyn decided that she would not lose her temper, and instead, answered the question as if he were merely inquiring about the weather.

"Pants."

"Pants?" Dean smirked incredulously as he let the word roll off his tongue. When he realized she was being serious, his eyebrow cocked. "_Pants_," he repeated.

"Pants."  
He glanced down at her, just noticing that she was wearing a pair of Sam's jeans. He could tell from the way they fell over her ankles and dug into her hips.

"Well," he sighed, then muttered slyly, "don't think you're getting into _my _pants." Then he left the bathroom, pretending not to notice the deep scowl which had traced itself into the girl's features.

- - -

The morning light filled the small kitchen, illuminating the table and chairs while the lingering, dark shadows of night dispersed. Beclyn held a cup of coffee in her hands, already feeling the effects of the lack of sleep. The warmth of the mug seeped into her skin. It was comforting to feel heat after the nightmare of the cold, forbidding house. Try as she might, she could not shake the nightmare from her thoughts. To Beclyn, it had been too realistic for comfort. She knew the facts of dreams and nightmares. One; they weren't real. Two; everyone had a nightmare every now and then. Three; it was impossible to get hurt inside a dream and be inflicted with the wounds when conscious. However, she found herself doubting the last one. Lifting a hand to rub her neck, Beclyn felt the bruises sting slightly. She knew the bruises could be easily explained, as she had reminded herself many times since waking up. She must have thrashed around enough in her sleep for the blankets to curl around her neck, alas, choking her. The cut on her stomach was harder to explain, but after examining the mattress of the bed closely, she found a piece of wire loose which she could have nudged up against while sleeping.

Raising the cup to her lips, she sipped the steaming coffee, wincing as she tried to swallow due to her, more than likely, bruised windpipe. To hide her bruises, she had let down her hair to cover her shoulders while a thick, black jumper (which she had stolen from the Laundromat while washing the blankets) had concealed the cut in her stomach very nicely. Now, if she could just somehow grab a gun and shoot Dean to stop him from accusing her of throwing the bag at him then she could actually be content.

"I swear," Dean growled from across the table for the eighth time that morning, "you think you're so smart by chucking a bag at me. It doesn't work that way, Beclyn. It was childish and stupid. You should be ashamed of yourself for doing something like that. I mean, here I was, making the best of the situation, sleeping on a frigging cold, tiled floor, and you come along and throw something at me. I mean, come on! You get the warm, comfy bed while I had to sleep on the floor. If anything, _I _should be the one throwing stuff at you."

"Dean, give it up," Sam pleaded from the kitchen counter, his eyes begging his brother to stop.

"No, I won't, Sam!" Dean retaliated, his tone firmly showing that he believed he was the victim of a tragic incident. "Why do you pick her side? She's the one that threw--"

In a quick attempt to change the conversation, Sam asked, "So when are we moving onto the next town?"

Dean, caught halfway through his sentence, had to think before saying, "I was thinking we could do this gig I investigated. Seems like there's a haunt in one of the abandoned houses a couple of towns west from here. It might be worthwhile checking it out. If we pack up now then we'll be there by this afternoon."

Sam's mouth opened in protest to say that he wanted a break from the hunting business for a few days; however, he snapped it shut again. If he pestered too much, he might accidentally set his brother off on one of his rants about how they should be doing something worthwhile, such as killing ghosts, hunting the witch that made them switch bodies, or finding their father. Glancing over to Beclyn, he noticed that she was staring off into space, naive to the rest of the room.

"Beclyn?" Sam called.

The girl jumped in her seat, startled. She glared up at him, obviously annoyed at being disturbed.

"You feeling okay?" he asked.

"None of your Goddamn business," she replied snappily, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Sam turned away, not able to meet her gaze.

_Yep, _he sighed sarcastically. _This is going to be one fun gig._

- - -

_Twenty-eight years ago_

A yellow bulb flickered eerily, causing shadows to appear then disappear along the deserted hall. A mixture of stains marked the old, wooden floors of the neglected New York building. The wallpaper, which had once been a delicate pattern of yellow daisies on a soft, blue background, now peeled from the walls, where a stray fist had punched through the structure as if it were nothing but alfoil. Empty packets of cigarettes, used needles, and torn condoms littered the ground. The hallway was silent apart from the electrical buzzing of the light bulb. It flickered for a moment longer, then emitted a long, dull drone before smashing into hundreds of small pieces. The hallway was thrown into darkness. A mysterious sound of rushing wind whistled through the hall, even though there were no windows or drafts in any of the rooms to cause such a noise. Abruptly, a feminine cry of pain sounded from the only closed door, dim light shining from under the crack. The cry faded into a set of whimpers and sobs before escalating back into a scream of agony. There was a short period of seconds where the girl stopped screaming, and instead, tried to inhale with a set of large, whooping breaths. She groaned with exertion, trying so desperately hard to do what many had done before her, only to cry out in more pain. A different voice, muffled by the door, encouraged her to push harder. The girl in pain groaned through clenched teeth, then let out a shrill, loud scream as she pushed as hard as her body would allow her. Suddenly, there was a cry of a newborn baby. A light murmur of a voice from within the room said something before the door swung open. A girl, most likely in her late twenties, stepped out into the hallway.

"Shit," she swore as she stood on the shards of broken glass. Her tight, skimpy shirt and see-through miniskirt left nothing to the imagination. She hesitated for a second, probably wondering if it were safe for her to wander down the dark hall. After deciding it wasn't so dangerous, she began to stomp past a few doors before turning into a doorway, wiping blood from her hands onto her miniskirt as she went. There was a dull, golden glow flowing into the hall where she had left the door open. She was lucky she hadn't closed it, or else she may have seen the deadly stranger who had been patiently hiding behind it. The man let out a sigh, then slipped around the door, closing it silently behind him. The room was small and as welcoming as the hallway had been. The yellow glow was coming from a cheap lamp beside an iron bed. Apart from the lamp and bed, the room had been stripped of all furniture, probably done years ago by petty thieves. The man stood for a moment, just watching as a baby - covered in mucus and blood from the birth - whimpered softly from the bed. The mother, a young girl with brown hair who was no older than twenty-one, cradled the small form in her arms as she lay naked under the thin, white sheet. Not yet realizing she was no longer alone, she whispered a lullaby in a deep, southern accent to the babe, trying to coo it into a slumber. She smiled proudly, kissing the baby on the head. She was about to wipe some of the blood and tissue from her child before suddenly seeing the figure dressed in dark clothes standing in the shadows. Holding the baby closer to herself, she cried out, "W-Who's there?"

The man, understanding that he had been caught, stepped forward into the light, revealing his handsome features. His bluish-green eyes gazed intently upon her while his face remained unnervingly solemn. The girl studied him for less than a second before hissing, "Holy shit. It's _you_."

A smirk formed over the man's features. "I was afraid you were going to forget me," he commented in a deep undertone.

"How the fuck was I supposed to forget you?" the girl spat, pulling the baby as close to her as she could.

"Now, now," the man tutted as shook his head. "Don't use that language in front of our child--"

"He's not yours!" the girl interrupted savagely, her arms now wrapped so tightly around the baby that she was almost crushing him. "I wouldn't call you a father when we only fucked for one night." The baby whimpered softly, causing the girl to stop and whisper soothing words to calm him. When she was sure he wasn't going to cry, she raised her head to glare at the intruder. "I haven't seen you for nine months. You promised you would come and visit! Instead, I waited, and waited, for three-fucking-months and still you didn't come! I had to go to live with my mother for Christ's sakes!" Her eyes narrowed as she continued, her voice sharp and severe. "It wasn't until she found out I was pregnant that she threw me back onto the streets. You have no idea what kind of hell I've been through." She gestured with one hand around the room. "I had to come here - a slut house! And now, only on the night of our son's birth do you come back?"

The man ignored her, transfixed with the child as it gurgled sleepily and wrapped a tiny, delicate hand around its mother's finger. Absent-mindedly, he smiled then asked in a hushed whisper, "Can I hold him?"

"Fuck off!" the girl yelled as loudly as she could without stirring the child.

She automatically tried to shield the baby, but was too late as he rushed forward and yanked the babe from her grasp.

"Give him back!" she screeched, struggling to sit up, but was too weak from the birth to do so.

"Shh..." the man hushed her as he stroked the baby's silk-like brown hair. "You'll wake him."

"I don't care!" she continued to shriek. Then, to her utmost horror, the man lifted the baby to his face then smelt the baby's head as if the boy were nothing more than a glass of wine.

The man halted halfway, then made a face of disgust. "It's _human_..." he scowled angrily, infuriated.

"Yeah, what the fuck did you expect it to be - a goat?" the girl sneered.

A rush of fury swept through the man, causing him to grit his teeth painfully. He wanted to grab the baby by its head and snap its fragile neck. He wanted to grasp its limbs and tear them off one by one in a sickening spray of blood and gore. He wanted to drop the babe, desiring the sound of hearing its delicate skull smash into the wooden floor.

As if reading his thoughts, the baby began to howl with cries, writhing helplessly in the man's hands.

"Give him to me," the girl ordered, her eyes filled with concern and worry for the bawling babe. When the man didn't respond, she screeched, "_Give Jamison back to me!_"

The baby sniffed loudly, then opened its mouth to wail louder. The man scowled, feeling like he had just wasted another chunk of his life to watch himself make another failure. Suddenly, his scowl lifted into an eerie grin. Maybe it wasn't an _entire_ failure.

"Give him back!" the girl continued to yell. "Give him back! Give him back! Give him--"

She stopped abruptly as the man gazed up to look at her. The girl's mouth slackened.

"What's wrong with your eyes?" she asked in a terrified whisper.

The man's grin grew wider, more predatory, as he stepped closer to the bed. His luminescent, insane, silver eyes remained glassy, transfixed. The baby squirmed, screaming in incomprehensible cries.

"What are you doing?" the girl questioned, her voice beginning to quiver. "What are-- Wait! Stop! Don't come any closer! Don't--"

Then suddenly, she let out a scream filled with torturous agony.

The girl who had left the room earlier came trudging back into the room, a set of towels held under her arm as she let out an exasperated sigh. Instantly, she stopped. Her mouth falling open, she dropped the towels, then lifted a hand to her chest.

The pregnant girl she had tended to was now only a corpse, sprawled across the bed. The arteries in her neck had been slashed. Blood poured down her naked form, dripping to the floor to make an ever-growing pool of scarlet. Every limb was twisted as the bones lay broken and dislocated. The mother's detached jaw sat several feet away from the bed as if something strong had ripped it from her face - teeth and all. However, by far the worst was her eyes. One brown eye was balancing on her cheek, only a blood vessel keeping it attached to the body from which it had been torn. The other was glazed, staring in a horrified, glassy expression which had been her last, fleeting glance as she realized the mortifying truth.

Jamison had been taken by a monster.

**You like, you like, you like? Sorry if I promised people there would be rape in this chapter. It's coming up, I swear! It just needs a bit of touching up and then everyone's sadistic minds will be put to rest –grins mischievously--. **

**Read and Review, please!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Hey! I got this chapter out quicker than expected – which is good for me because now I can work on a few of my assignments. Isn't it funny how you find anything to do BUT schoolwork? Or when you actually sit down to do your assignment, you suddenly have a major urge to clean out your cupboard, or clip that toenail that doesn't seem _completely_ even? **

**I was bad again, I know. I chopped this chapter in half because I wanted this bit out as soon as possible. Besides, it's more of a cliff-hanger this way _(insert 'dun-dun-dun' music here). _Oh well. I hope you like it! Put my heart into it, as always. I'd appreciate ANY feedback! Even if you want to have a bitch fest about my story, go ahead. It'd be nice to take the good with some bad. A big thank you to the reviewers (you guys know who you are, and know you deserve every piece of chocolate on the earth), and also, a huge hug for my beta, because without her, I'd still be stuck in the Stone Ages with my grammar and spelling. **

**Disclaimer: I own Beclyn, Jamison, the ruling demon, and anything you don't recognize. Sadly, everything else either belongs to Mr. Kripke, or the fangirls who have run off with the copyright again. **

**WARNINGS: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M. Adult themes, violence, gore, swearing. These chapters are going to be full-on. Don't say I didn't warn you. **

**Chapter 17**

Sam just _loved _travelling. He just _loved _going deaf listening to Dean's screaming music for the trillionth time. He just _loved _listening to Beclyn complain about anything and everything that cropped into her head. But most of all, he just absolutely _loved _the pelting rain that was not only making him feel cold, but was causing Dean to bitch about the wet conditions of the road.

Sam should have realized that when Dean said,_ 'We'll be there by this afternoon...', _he really meant, '_We'll be lucky to see it by tomorrow night_'. Glaring out the window, the depressed twenty-two year old watched the kamikaze raindrops scatter across the foggy glass. The rain had changed to a light drizzle, a great improvement from the torrential downpours they had met after being on the road for two hours. Dean had shrugged it off with his smirking attitude. _"What's a little rain, Sammy? Maybe it could actually wash that mop of grease on top of your head which you call hair." _Dean's optimistic approach had dimmed since then. Sam knew his brother hated the rain. It was cold, miserable, wet, and just by stepping out of the car, any pee-break turned into a short shower. Dean had already missed two of the major highways due to the rain. One had been closed because it had been flooded. Dean had only realized he had missed the other an hour after passing it - to which he said, '_There'll be another one up here, somewhere_'.

That was three hours ago. Three very, _very _long hours. Sam was starting to think that it'd be a miracle if they found the town they were looking for by tomorrow night. But for now, he had to put up with Dean's cussing about the roads.

"You'd think they'd place the towns closer together," Dean bitched, tapping his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as he drove. "I can't even see a damn thing with all this rain."

Sam let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"What's wrong with you, sulk-a-puss?" Dean asked him grudgingly, not bothering to turn his head.

"'_Sulk-a-puss'_?" Sam said, his tone sceptical. "The problem is that we've been driving for ten hours and I'm pretty sure you don't know where you're going."

"What are you complaining about?" a voice snapped from the backseat. Inclining his head slightly, Sam raised his eyebrow at Beclyn. "You've been sitting in the front the whole time," she pointed out, obviously annoyed. "Why can't _I_ sit in the front?"

"Sorry, Bec," Dean said without even the slightest hint of remorse. "Only guys can sit in the front seat. That kind of cuts you out of the picture - unless you have a confession to make."

"You're such an asshole!" was the reply.

Oh, that was another thing Sam just _loved_ - Beclyn and Dean picking at each other for the past several hours just for the sake of it.

"Can't we just stop and take a break?" Sam suggested hopefully. His legs were aching and needed to get up and walk around.

"No can do, sulk-a-puss." Sam now realized that the name was going to stick. "I let you walk around less that a half hour ago. At this rate, we'll be there by next week because of your stupid breaks."

"But it's going to get dark soon! Shouldn't we stop? You have no idea where we're going anyway."

Dean clenched the steering wheel, ignoring his passengers. Sam could tell when his brother's patience was about to run out.

Lazing back in his seat, Sam closed his eyes, wishing that he could be back in a warm, comfy bed.

"Hey, Dean..."

Sam peeked out from underneath his eyelids when he heard the very soft voice from the backseat. He recognized it as one of Beclyn's many teasing, patronizing tones.

"You know what happens when a girl has a period?"

Dean grunted, shuffling slightly as he was thrust into the uncomfortable situation.

"A girl _bleeds_, Dean," she answered for him. "And you know what happens after travelling for a few hours?"

Making a sound similar to a snort, Dean tried to ignore her sickly-sweet, teasing voice.

"The blood builds up. And when it builds up, it had no where to go but down. And when the pad's all filled up, where does the blood go, Dean?"

Despite the cold, Sam noticed a very light layer of perspiration on his brother's forehead.

"The blood overspills. And you know what? Blood is the hardest substance to get out of upholstery, Dean."

Dean screeched the car to a halt.

All it took was a threat to Dean's baby to make him stop.

- - -

The three of them sat in a run-down motel half an hour later. Beclyn prized herself on her quick-thinking act. Sure, it took a lot of wit, and may have put her dignity on the line, but she really wanted to get out and stretch her legs. The bandages on her stomach had become loose, taking Beclyn more than her normal amount of determination not to scratch it. She needed cream for the bruises on her neck because they had started to darken. But more than anything, she craved chocolate. She didn't know how she had survived for so long without tasting the sweet, addictive unhealthiness. All she knew now was that she was compelled to buy it whenever she saw it, and had major urges to eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Not that she told the boys any of this, though.

"Dean..." Sam complained, his voice drawn out in a long whine. "Can't we have something _real_ for dinner?" Greasy chips and chikko rolls are not what I call a beneficial meal."

"I bought it - you eat it." Dean was spread out on the couch, not even slightly concerned as he flicked through the channels on the television, ignoring the horrendous reception.

Beclyn glanced up at the fluorescent digital clock sitting on the kitchen counter. It read a quarter to nine, but Beclyn was sure it was closer to ten. She stood, stretched her arms, then started walking to the bedroom.

"Where do you think you're going?" Dean asked her impolitely.

"To bed, where else?" she hissed back.

"Sam, you heard her. She wants to go to bed and _you're _on bedroom duty."

"_What_?" Sam spluttered. "Why do _I_ have to be the one to watch Beclyn all the time?"

"What are you talking about? I did it last night."

"Yeah, after I had done it three nights in a row!"

Beclyn scowled under her breath. It was so condescending to watch the boys fight over who was going to '_protect_' her. It was insulting to her strength; however, she knew the real reason why they didn't want to leave her alone. They were afraid that she was going to escape in the middle of the night. Little did they know that if they ever gave her the chance, she probably would.

"I'm going to bed whether someone's there or not!" she yelled over the argument.

"Hurry up, Sam."

"No, Dean! I'm not going to. It's _your _turn!"

With an exaggerated huff, Dean rose from the couch, bickering and muttering to himself as he did. "Fine," he hissed angrily. "I'll be the one to watch Beclyn tonight. You be the dumb-ass dick-knob who denies his orders."

According to Beclyn, there were very few things that were more offensive than to talk about someone when they were standing in the room. Dean just talked about her as if she were an inanimate object which had to be watched every moment in case it would fall apart and break. She hated it. However, she didn't have much time to dwell on the thought as Dean slammed the bedroom door behind them, leaving the only other male in the kitchen.

- - -

Beclyn's head hit the pillow at a quarter past ten. Dean had surrendered to sleep earlier, almost straight after he had his shower. The rain was still drizzling outside, pattering against the barred windows with little _tin__kl__ing _sounds. Closing her eyes, Beclyn felt her body grow lax and heavy. The darkness below her eyelids deepened to something darker than black. The soft snores of Dean seemed to dim into another world of nothingness. Suddenly, she felt an incredibly cold gust of wind whoosh past her ears. Beclyn's eyes shot open.

She was in the wooden house from her nightmare.

Beclyn was sitting upright against the wall next to the bed. Her breath quickened as the light flickered and glowed. A touch of cold air swept upon her face, stifling her breaths. It took her a second to realize what had happened. The change in scenery had been so abrupt that she was still coming to terms with it. It was only after a few seconds that she understood she was back in the place which she had been fearful of all day.

Bracing her hands on the ground to help her stand, she pushed herself from the floor, swaying a bit before using the bed as support. She inhaled several large breaths, trying to clear her head. A single sweep of the room revealed that she was alone, apart from the fireplace, a set of pokers, and the bed. Not wasting a second, she hurriedly crossed to the fireplace. The set of iron pokers sat beside it, gleaming every now and then as the flames darted over them. Beclyn picked what she considered to be the sharpest one, then let it swing by her side.

Only the sound of wood splitting in the fire and the soft drizzle of rain disturbed her breaths.

Another sweep of the room. Still alone.

"Where are you, you asshole?" Beclyn yelled, feeling like she had disturbed some inner peace by breaking the almost silent room. A few seconds past before she called out, "I'm right here! You wanna go up against me, then bring it on!"

The light dimmed for a second, sending the room into darkness. Beclyn gasped in shock, turning to face the fireplace as the flames flickered delicately, as if threatening to plunge the room into black. The tiny hairs on the back of Beclyn's neck prickled. Sensing that she was no longer alone, Beclyn listened intently. Sure enough, there were the sounds of heavy breathing from behind her. She waited for a moment, drawing the predator into a false sense of security, then turned, letting out a loud cry as she swung the poker. She didn't expect the fist which collided with the side of her face.

Beclyn fell to the floor with an _umph, _the poker clattering next to her side. Swivelling to face her attacker, Beclyn saw the same lunatic, bearing down at her while his face was basked in shadows. She raised a hand to check where he had punched her. A cut, but not much blood.

"So, you brought me back, huh?" she smirked, her heart hammering in her chest. "Just couldn't spend one night without me, hmm?"

He remained in the same position, staring down at her, frozen as if he were dead standing up.

"Well," Beclyn continued to taunt, her fingers edging towards the poker, "I'm back. Don't think you'll have the upper hand this time. You startled me last night, but believe me, it won't happen _again_."

Her hand grabbed the poker then swung it with all her might. There was a sound of metal slicing flesh. The man stumbled back, his arms still at his sides. Beclyn watched, a sadistic grin on her face as she realized she had wounded him. Abruptly, her grin fell as her eyes widened in shock. The poker had struck him through the arm. The iron pole stuck through both sides of his forearm, blood oozing from the wound. The man stood still, then, with a slight look of confusion, he glanced down at his arm. There was a mixed expression of morbid interest and bewilderment on his face - like a boy who wonders why the kitten doesn't move after they had crushed its skull in with his foot. He raised the arm which wasn't wounded and clasped his hand around the metal. Beclyn watched in fascinated horror as he removed the pole with the slick sound of thick fluid and cracking bones. He didn't show one sign of pain. The pole lay clenched in one hand, the other arm bleeding only slightly. Before Beclyn could register that using the poker was a very bad idea, she felt a cracking pain in her skull as the metal impacted with her head.

She let out a short gasp of pain, then grasped the wound, already feeling the thick, damp blood. She didn't have long to recover as a masculine hand curled in her hair, the fingers twisting, knotting the dark strands. The hand wrenched upwards, pulling Beclyn with it. A large chunk of hair was pulled from her skull, only to be replaced by another hand twisting through the other clumps. Beclyn clawed with her fingernails, trying to slash out at the man, but remained helpless as she was dragged to another point in the room. There was a noise of additional metal, a feeling of being lifted from the ground, then the agony of something slicing through her wrists. Beclyn inclined her head to gaze at her wrist. Restraints held her hand against the wall, blood trickling from the metal. A strong hand grabbed her other. Beclyn turned to face her other wrist, then cried out. Her hand was pinned against the wall, defenceless as the other restraint came into her view. The restraints were heavy silver, bulky enough to ensure no escapes. Inside the rim of the metal, there were several large, sharp points. The restraint clasped down upon her wrist, the points slicing through her skin as if it were a warm knife through butter. Beclyn screamed in agony as it pierced through her major veins, blood pouring from the lacerations as proof. She choked, finding it difficult to breathe as stabbing pains racked her nerves. A hand clasped around her jaw pulling her forward. The restraints chinked as the points dug deeper, scraping against bone.

A face with a wide, sadistic grin came into her vision. The man tilted her head back, ignoring the gasps of pain clogging her throat.

"Ah," a raspy voice echoed from his lungs, content with what he was looking at. "I see you still have the bruises I gave you..."

Beclyn's eyes widened in fear as his hand lowered to settle above her breasts. He extended one finger and traced an invisible line down the middle of her hidden cleavage. His grin briefly changed into a smirk of pleasure as she whimpered. His hand continued before stopping above her pants line. Suddenly, he gripped her buttoned shirt and tore it up the middle, the plastic, black buttons splitting and breaking apart. Beclyn tried to wrench away but cried out as the restrains held her in place. The man stroked her naked stomach, tracing the cut. He raised his hand again, letting it brush over her black bra and luscious breasts. His head tilted forward, his lips inches away from hers. His eyes were filled with lust and desire, wanting to taste her - feel her blood gushing down his throat, sloshing over his skin, pouring into his eyes.

He had waited so long.

The man's face came closer, his lips parting to reveal small, pointed teeth. He opened his mouth, saliva drooling down his chin, ready to bite into hers, before suddenly--

- - -

Beclyn woke up, not only drenched in sweat, but blood as well. She didn't even have to turn on the light to know that there was blood everywhere. She would have felt it, if she hadn't have felt so numb. She sat up, regretting it as her head spun wildly. Blood dripped from her fingertips as she stood, her hands twitching - a usual spectacle when the tendons are severed. Stumbling to the bathroom, she slapped on the light, leaving a bloody hand mark on the wall. She dragged her feet to the sink, her gaze becoming blurred and mixed. She glanced up, finally able to look at herself in the mirror. Beclyn would have gasped except she didn't have enough energy. Her face was a pasty grey, with the dark bruises on her neck swelling to the size of golf balls. Her hair lay in large clumps on her head - a bloody bald patch in the middle of her skull from where her hair had been ripped out. Beclyn checked to make sure she was still wearing her shirt. She was; however, a bruise around her cut displayed an angry hue of purple. Fumbling for the taps, Beclyn tried to turn them but only succeeded in covering them with slippery blood. Groaning pathetically, she tried again, her stomach almost emptying as she lost all feeling in her hands. The world was spinning now, dizzying her too much to stand. She made attempt to grab the basin but instead, fell to the floor. A tear trickled down her cheek as she pulled her legs from under her. She felt hopeless, scared, and too confused to do anything. A huge glob of saliva descended from her lips. Hastily wiping it off with the back of her hand, she let out a moan of frustration.

Weak, pathetic, and losing dangerously large quantities of blood, Beclyn rested her head back against the wall. She closed her eyes and counted to five. When she opened them, she expected to see the man in front of her, wooden-handled knife and lethal restraints in his hands, ready to kill her. And there he was. Standing by the bathroom door. His figure was mostly just a blur as he quickly crossed the room to her, his head tilted to stare. Beclyn tensed, waiting for the fatal blow, but when it didn't come, she looked up at his face basked in black.

"_What're 'ou 'aitin for?"_ she slurred, black dots dancing in her vision. "_'Ou wanna kill me so dowwit! 'Inish me off..."_

The figure crouched to their knees, their hand reaching out to touch hers. Beclyn prepared herself for the crack of bone as he broke her wrist, just snapping it as if it were nothing more than a fragile stick. Instead, the fingers tenderly wrapped around the deep lacerations, placing pressure on the bleeding. A second hand felt her forehead, checking her temperature. The hand pulled away to be replaced by an arm which curled around her shoulders and heaved her from the floor. Beclyn was dragged from the cold, clammy tiles back into the bedroom where she was escorted to the farthest bed. Almost instantly, the hands got to work bandaging her wounds and checking for any signs of infection.

Realizing that the figure wasn't the lunatic, Beclyn begged, "_Dun't... Pw-eeze... He'll just be back... He wants to... He want 'o..." _

The two hands comfortingly cradled her head, keeping her steady.

"Listen to me, Beclyn," a voice broke into her pleas. Maybe Sam's? No. Dean's voice. Definitely Dean's voice. "I want to know why you did this."

_"He'll just... He want to... Pw-eeze..."_

"I want to know why you did this," the voice continued, an unfamiliar quaver in their tone - fear, perhaps? "Why did you do this to yourself? Why did you… Why did you cut yourself--" The voice broke off for a second.

Beclyn whimpered like a child, tears filling her eyes as her mind refused to think. She couldn't remember feeling so scared. She swore the lunatic was right there. He wasn't a nightmare – he was real. He could hurt her. He had found her weakness. Was it even her weakness? She didn't know. She couldn't remember. It just felt so horrible to be taken like that, to be kicked when down, to be touched when restrained… Whoever the lunatic was, he had _enjoyed _it. She should have killed him inside that house. She knew she could – it would've been simple. But she didn't. She hesitated and lost the chance. Why? Because he looked so damn _familiar, _that's why. And that, alone, was enough to terrify her.

Suddenly, two arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her towards a warm, comforting chest. She blinked, confused, then let herself be hugged. It felt so good to have someone there with her.

A hand stroked her hair tenderly as Dean whispered, "It's okay... It's going to be okay, Beclyn. Why don't we get some sleep and talk about this in the morning?"

Vaguely nodding, Beclyn sniffed back her tears and began to shiver as the warm body she just snuggled against pulled away. Lowering her head to the pillow, she closed her eyes only for a second before feeling the bed rise as Dean tried to stand.

"Wait!" she cried out, her head swivelling to face him, causing her mind to spin.

A hand on her shoulder answered her cry. It rubbed soothingly as Dean whispered gently, "What's wrong?"

"Please..." She scrunched her eyes, knowing that she was going to hate herself in the morning for saying it, but she had to say it... She was too scared to not say it. She was-- "Please don't leave me alone..." she begged, her hand moving to his.

Almost seeing his confused expression, she implored, "Please, Dean... I don't want to be left alone. He... He might come back..."

She opened her eyes, shocked, as she felt the bed sink. Dean wasn't going to leave her alone after all. She felt Dean give her hand a light squeeze as he said protectively, "Don't worry. I'll be right here."

He pulled the blankets over her, then moved his hand to lie very lightly around her waist, almost afraid to do anything more. Beclyn closed her eyes, feeling safer than before now that she had someone to protect her.

"Thank you..." she whispered before drifting to sleep.

**Well… What do you think? I was very nervous about writing this chapter because I was petrified that everyone would think that I'm some psychopathic nut. … … … Okay, so maybe I am a psychopathic nut – but don't you love me for it? **

**I'm going all-out next chapter. Gore, violence, rape, trauma… Here I come! **

**But only if I get enough reviews ;P. **


	18. Chapter 18

**And I'm back! –ducks flying rotten vegetables—**

**Yes, I know. This has taken – how long? – to put up. At least several months. I'm horrible, I know. My excuse is that I began to plan ahead about what happens after this chapter because those details are a little iffy in my mind. Also, I had to chop this chapter in half. The other bit will come soon because it's practically finished. Please don't attack me! This chapter is short with some hidden key elements. Sorry, it's one of those chapters which **_**have **_**to be there for the plot to thicken. Or, you know, whatever. **

**Still, I hope you like it because reviews are much appreciated (even if they are flames . )**

**Warnings: swearing, mentions of self-harm**

* * *

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 18**

The cold drizzle of rain continued outside, slowly flooding what little grass the desert-style motel had. Muddy patches of brown footprints were tracked through the motel room as the boys dragged the duffel bags to the Impala, packing so that they could hit the road. Beclyn watched from one of the kitchen chairs, looking solemn and fragile with a long-sleeved black shirt, light cardigan, and over-sized blue jeans (Dean had spared one of his for her sake). Her eyes were glassy, concerned only with whatever lay concealed in her mind. Sam had been surprised - no - _stunned_, when Dean had whispered gently for Beclyn to take it easy and to sit while they packed the car. He had been even more shocked when Beclyn had complied. Sam wanted to question his brother; the only problem was finding the opportunity of cornering Dean into a tight situation where he _had _to tell him what was going on. Dean was mostly silent about his inner feelings on any other day, so Sam wasn't holding his breath in expectation that Dean would open up to him now. Sam would have interrogated Beclyn... if he had a death wish. Better to let sleeping, angry, vicious, homicidal dogs lie.

As Sam packed the car, he pondered over what could have made his two older companions suddenly so... _different_.

_Dean had shared the room with Beclyn last night. What did they do? _Sam wondered to himself.

Sam suddenly stopped. What _did_ they do? He had to chomp down hard on his lower lip to keep from gasping. Beclyn - a luscious, gorgeous brunette with an attitude similar to Mt. Vesuvius ready to explode. Dean - a well-built, handsome (Sam almost gagged at the thought), middle-aged man who happened to be a womanizer.

Sam didn't even have to do the math.

Instantly, he felt angry at the couple. Dean was such a hypocrite! Of course Sam should have realized that his brother was doing nothing but what a usual man-whore would do. He screwed anything with tits, no matter what the relationship was! Obviously, last night, Dean had somehow miraculously forgotten that he hated Beclyn and would rather drive a sharp blade into the palm of his hand several times rather than actually _talk _to her.

And Beclyn...God, didn't she have any _standards_?!

Dean was meant to hate Beclyn and Beclyn was meant to hate Dean.

_Where the hell did it all go wrong? _Sam asked himself, feeling like he was in the middle of some weird, sick, _lovey-dovey_ television drama series.

Sam thought over the facts to himself as he opened the hood of the Impala and haphazardly thrust his black duffel bag inside. He tensed as he heard Dean approaching.

"Here," Dean said as he held out Beclyn's duffel bag, "put that in too, will ya?"

Sam stared at it for a second, and then grabbed it as if he thought nothing of it.

_Even doing her chores for her now, huh? God, you think you are romantic and she may just give you another night, huh?_

The younger man's rage built as Dean strutted off, barely noticing the scowl quickly forming over Sam's face. As soon as he had dumped the bag in the backseat, Sam hurried back to the motel room, remaining silent as he sneaked through the front door.

Beclyn was no longer sitting in the kitchen chair, rather moving into the bedroom to clean up the rest of the mess. Sam could hear Dean talking to her from behind the closed bedroom door.

"...talk about this," Dean persisted, his tone softer with her than usual.

"There's nothing to talk about," Beclyn snapped in reply. Sam could hear her moving around, stuffing things into garbage bags as she went.

There was a strained silence, and then, "Something must have happened for you to have done that to yourself, Beclyn."

A plastic bag was thrown to the floor in an angry huff. "You think I would do this to _myself_?!"

"Well, who else could have done it then?" Dean was becoming defensive.

There was a sigh, then, "I don't know. I just know that I didn't do it to myself."

"There was no one else--"

"You think I don't know that?" Beclyn stopped moving around the room. "You think that I'm not already looking for a rational reason for this? Christ, Dean, why the hell would I do this to myself?"

"What about the guy?"

"What guy?"

"There was a man you were talking about last night. You said he was going to finish you off."

Silence filled the room again. Sam had to press his ear against the door to hear the slight murmur of the conversation.

"Beclyn, look at me... Beclyn--"

"Just piss off. I don't wanna talk about it."

"Is he an old boyfriend of yours?"

A snort. "I sure hope not."

"You're not sure?"

Something slammed onto the bedside table. Sam almost tripped backwards as he heard several things clatter to the floor.

"What's with all the dumb-ass questions?" Beclyn spat angrily. "You help me for one night and you instantly think that you own me--"

"You don't want me to care? Fine. I won't care. I won't even try and help. In fact, next time, I'll leave you to die. Is that what you want?"

Sam blinked.

_What man? Who's dying? What did who do?_

"Look, Beclyn... I--"

Silence.

"Look, if you wanna talk, Beclyn... I'm here. Okay?"

Sam was about to peer through the keyhole when he suddenly had to lurch out of the way, just in time for Beclyn to come stomping out from the bedroom looking quite upset.

"Bec--!" Dean started to shout but instantly halted when he saw his younger brother staring at him with wide eyes from outside of the bedroom. "What?" he snapped, irritated.

"Uhh..." Sam gulped nervously as he grabbed a random garbage bag as a reason for just happening to be in the spot where he could hear them arguing. "Just getting the last bag to put in the car..." he mumbled, rushing out the door before Dean could protest.

It didn't take a psychic to realize when someone wasn't wanted.

- - -

If silence was meant to be golden, why was it eating a nervous, nauseating hole through Sam's stomach?

The three travellers had only _just_ made it to the final motel by sunset. It had been a very, _very_ long ride through the desert as Beclyn and Dean had not even tried to strike up a conversation once. They hadn't even tried to _yell_ at each other.

That worried Sam. That worried Sam _a lot_.

Sam had only finally brought the two together through plans of how they were going to go about destroying the spirit in the haunted house. Even then, they were eerily silent.

Spreading the house plan over the plastic kitchen table, Sam bit his lip and tried to concentrate on the gig without bursting into a thousand questions about what the two had been arguing about earlier.

"...there's a backdoor," Sam explained carefully, watching for any reaction. "It would be easy to access... and it says here that it leads straight into the--" Sam pondered over the map."--kitchen..."

Neither of the other two stirred. Beclyn remained seated with her head in her crossed arms, making it difficult for Sam to determine whether or not she was paying attention, while Dean just kept staring at her. Of course, his older brother tried to cover it up by nodding every now and then, but his attention definitely remained on Beclyn.

_I hate not knowing what's going on! _Sam cried out exasperatedly in his mind. _This is probably some messed-up, psychological crap that they're trying to throw at me. It's a frigging conspiracy. _

"...and then we just--" Sam was purposely taking his time reading the map, wording the names of the rooms, pronouncing every single syllable of the sentence - just to check if the other two were listening "--go into the living room, here..." There was no reaction from the other two. Not even an irritated sigh.

_Damn it. They're not paying attention. _

"...so now we just have to figure out when's the best time to attack," Sam finished, beginning to slowly fold up the house plans. He cast a quick glance from Beclyn to Dean. They hadn't seemed to have noticed that he had finished.

Sam opened his mouth, ready to wake the two from their daydreams, when suddenly the two sprang to life.

"Morning," Beclyn stated firmly.

"Night," Dean gave his opinion roughly.

Instantly, the two glared at each other as if they had bad-mouthed one another.

Sam blinked, stunned and confused at the abrupt statements. He had completely forgotten what they were answering.

Beclyn shook her head at Dean and opposed, "What - are you crazy? We can't attack this thing at night. Better to attack at first light. That way, this thing won't be expecting it, nor will it be prepared to fight."

"Yeah, right," Dean growled back sarcastically, "let's just leave it until the morning when this thing has been up all night and we're not at our peak condition to fight it. Better to go up against something when we're dead tired – that's your logic?"

"Don't be irrational," she retaliated, her glare narrowing dangerously. "You're willing to put our lives at stake by sending us to a house when it's pitch dark and we don't know our way around?"

"There is less chance of witnesses seeing us if we go at night."

"Oh, but the chance of survival is lower."

"What's _that _supposed to mean?"

Beclyn lurched to her feet, her chair hitting the sickly-cream coloured wall as she yelled, "It means that I've been attacked more times with you then what I've been through in the whole of five years of being by myself!"

Sam stared, shocked. His mouth fell open as he gaped at the furious girl. It was the most she had said to Dean since that morning.

Dean, however, smirked. "I get it," he said snidely, crossing his arms and leaning back against the bench. "You're being a coward. You're too scared to go into the house at night in case the ghastly gets you."

Their eyes locked together, challenging the other to persist in their mockery. Sam glanced between them, ready to bolt in case an all-out battle erupted.

Finally, Beclyn turned away from Dean. "Fine," she spat. "I'm not afraid of anything, and I'm definitely _not_ a coward." She swivelled on the spot to glare at the now sniggering hunter. "Don't come crying to me when it's _you_ who's lost an arm or a leg because of your stupidity," she finished, and then glided from the room, taking the air of ease with her.

Dean shook his head, knowing that the only way to pressure Beclyn into something was to insult her dignity.

- - -

Pulling on his prized leather jacket, Dean flicked a pocket knife into his pocket, along with a small plastic container of salt. Of course he had more in the Impala if the occasion called, but it was always good to have a little bit just for a flick of a distraction. It could be the difference between dead and undead.

He had meant to wake up Sam earlier in the afternoon, but his younger brother hadn't had a wink of sleep since showing him the house plans. Dean felt the recurring nag of worry at the back of his mind as Sam trudged from the bathroom, all ready to go.

It would be night in less than two hours and Beclyn _still_ hadn't finished getting dressed. He had only woken her up to get ready - what? - an _hour and a half _ago.

"If she wanted to come, she could get ready quicker..." Dean grumbled under his breath.

He held his tongue as Sam glanced up, his face in slight confusion at what Dean said.

"Nothing," Dean muttered as if he were answering an unspoken question. "I just wish Beclyn would hurry up so that we can--"

"I _am _ready," an irritated voice snapped from the doorway.

Dean turned to see Beclyn standing a few feet away from him. Instantly, his mouth fell open as he let his eyes wander over her.

She looked... _horrible_.

Her dark hair, usually neatly tucked behind her ears, was a mess, as if she hadn't even bothered to brush it. Her skin seemed waxy and pale - as if she had become anaemic since the last time he saw her that morning. She wore a heavy jumper with baggy jeans and something that seemed similar to a fluffy sock around her neck. From the amount of clothes she was wearing, it looked as if she had gained twenty pounds.

Dean bit his tongue, figuring that if he said something then it would only hold up the gig.

Sam, however, didn't think about that factor.

"Beclyn..." Sam gaped, taking a step closer to try and steady her. She was, after all, fidgeting madly with the hidden bandages under her jumper sleeves. "Are you feeling okay...?"

"Fine," Beclyn answered quickly, giving them more of a gap between them by stepping apart. "I'm just fine." When nobody moved, she growled, "Are we gonna get this thing done or what?"

Trying to hide his concern by shoving a few artillery weapons into a duffel bag, Dean began to feel the regret of taking Beclyn with him. She wasn't in a good shape and now she was more determined to try and show him up. It was his call as to whether or not he wanted to leave her behind in the motel room.

"Come on, hurry up. We gotta go," was all Dean said.

He decided it was better to have her with them for backup.

* * *

**The next chapter I'll get out as soon as possible. Hopefully it won't be too long. Remember that there's a rape scene in here somewhere! **

**Funnily enough, that's probably why people read this fanfic (I know I would read something if it had that). **

**Be back ASAP!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Whoot! I'm back again! I worked on this chapter as much as possible to get it to the state that it is in now. Believe me, it was hard work – trying to get myself pumped up to write the scenes especially. I've had a friend pestering me about this chapter because she knows what's in it. :P She knows who she is. Tried to put in as many sharing and caring moments in this one. Funny how you realize all the things you've missed out once you've actually finished the chapter. **

**WARNINGS: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M16+. CONTAINS AN EXPLICIT RAPE SCENE. IF YOU FIND RAPE OFFENSIVE, PLEASE SKIP THE PART LABELLED X-X-X. Also contains swearing, gore, violence, and torture.**

**Disclaimer: I only own Beclyn and anything you don't recognize. **

* * *

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 19**

The targeted haunted house loomed menacingly against the darkening afternoon sky as the three hunters heaved heavy weapons from the Impala. The collapsing, once-loved home was made in the era of the late 1800s, mostly out of sturdy timber with a heavy coat of black paint. Over a hundred years later it still stood, however, termites had gnawed at the wood and the paint job was certainly in need of a touch-up. All in all, the house was barely habitable – it would have been knocked down if the demolition machinery hadn't kept breaking down without reason; but not even the forbidding appearance of the house could shake the three hunters' nerves. Dean wiped his sweaty brow with a leather-gloved hand as he tossed a bag to Sam.

"This place is ready to fall, so no rough shooting, heard?" he said briefly. Sam and Beclyn already understood the dangers of the timber home. If they shot and missed their target, the whole place could come falling down around them. All three of them were wearing gloves to protect their hands from stray splinters and sharp wire - something the higher authorities had placed around the house to warn off daring, drugged-up teenagers.

"Sam, go find the back door," Dean ordered, pulling out the house plans.

Sam shrugged then stepped off into the afternoon light, leaving Dean and Beclyn alone. Dean ran his finger over the path Sam had mapped out on the plans. The back door was meant to connect to the kitchen, which was then connected to a huge dining room. The upstairs plans weren't included.

Dean rolled up the house plans and dug through the boot of the Impala to find a torch. He faltered for a second as he heard Beclyn hiss then swear. Glancing up, he saw her twist and jab at the safety catch on the gun.

"Having trouble?" he inquired, hiding his smirk. He wondered how a girl who was so accustomed to weapons could not even flick a safety catch.

"I'm fine--" Beclyn answered, turning away, but Dean was already at her side, extending his hand.

"You just flick it," he explained simply, showing her how.

Beclyn nodded as if to say '_Well, duh',_ and then swivelled to face away.

"I've got it now," she stated thanklessly.

Dean noticed that her hands were trembling badly. "Beclyn, you feeling--"

"I'm fine!" she snapped. She began to walk away but Dean reached forward and grabbed her arm. She winced softly.

"You're not fine," he told her. "Even a kid knows how to change a safety catch. Now, tell me what's wrong."

Beclyn turned and glared at him in the eye. "Why don't you believe me? I told you. I'm--"

She didn't have time to finish her statement as Dean caught sight of her gloved hand. Something was wrong.

"What's up with your hand?"

Beclyn found herself trapped as Dean reached forward and clutched it gently, studying the gloved fingers. Using his teeth to pull off his gloves, he tenderly removed the leather from Beclyn's hand. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from recoiling.

"Shit, Beclyn. These are broken."

"They're fine."

"They're not fine! These are obviously-- I mean, jeez. Look at this one. It's snapped in three places, and this one's almost black! It looks as if someone's tried to rip it off."

Beclyn tried to pull her hand away but Dean held it tightly.

"You can't go hunting like this."

"I've had worse."

"You can't do anything with them--"

"I've managed so far."

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

"I'm not!"

"They have to be set back into place or else it'll just cause more damage."

Beclyn wrenched her arm back, her face suddenly contorted in fear. "No," she gasped.

Dean's face instantly furrowed in deep concern. "Beclyn, what's wrong?"

She hesitated, looking at her fingers as she slid the glove back on. "Nothing," she said after a while. She glanced at the house, barely moving, her eyes frozen in a glower. "We can set them later. Just remember that we're here on your mark so quit pissing me off."

Dean watched her, hating the fact that for the second time that week he had seen her terrified of something he couldn't fix.

Beclyn heard footsteps coming closer but didn't have time to move as Dean's arms suddenly wrapped around her in a tight, comforting embrace. Beclyn's eyes widened in shock as his arms remained tight around her.

"You know that you can trust me, right?" he whispered into her ear as the girl kept her back turned.

Almost as suddenly as he had hugged her, he pulled away and straightened his jacket. Beclyn felt her heart quicken underneath her jumper, but refused to say anything due to the awkwardness of the moment. She was going to ask why he stopped but her attention was averted as Sam ran back from around the house, breathless.

"The back door is hidden behind a plant. Shouldn't be too difficult to get through it," Sam huffed as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Alright then," Dean sighed, acting like nothing had happened as he grabbed a salt gun. "Let's waste this son-of-a-bitch."

- - -

The back door was concealed by an entanglement of dead, withered vines which seemed to creep across the entire back wall of the home. Beclyn realised that Dean's fear of being seen by witnesses wasn't something they had to worry about; she couldn't remember how close the next house was. Sam raised his gun to tear away some of the vines before Dean caught his companions' attention.

"This thing is big, alright," he told them, holding on to his pauses for full effect. "We don't know exactly what it does because no one has lived to tell the tale. We have more chance of killing this thing if we stick together."

Sam and Beclyn gave a brief nod of understanding.

Soon after, Sam was ripping the vines from the wall and kicking the remains away. He entered the house carefully, extremely cautious of what lay within. Beclyn was about to follow when Dean grabbed her shoulder gently to hold her back. She could barely conceal the jerk in her nerves as, for the second time, he touched the tender bruises the crazy lunatic from her dreams had made only several hours before, when he had decided to use a fire poker on her.

"Beclyn, I know I can't stop you from doing this," Dean excused himself quickly as she opened her mouth to object. "But, please, just call one of us for help if you run into trouble."

Beclyn's eyebrow arched as she stared at him. He just gazed back, concern still evident in his eyes. He was being so kind, so gentle, so sweet, so—

"We don't have to hug again, do we?" she snapped, breaking the caring mood.

Dean's eyes hardened, ready to scold her, but she just sighed, placing her weight upon the rotting back door to open it and leaving him and his shattered caring mood behind.

The kitchen was only large enough to allow a few housemaids to cook at once, even though there were two dusty stoves, three rusty sinks, and a bench which spread all the way to the back wall. Stepping over the chipped tiles, Beclyn heard glass crack under her shoes. Somebody or something had already been through the kitchen and had smashed every glass and ceramic item in the room. Sam was a few steps ahead of her, studying a set of footprints in the dust.

"Somebody's been through here," he reported.

He ran a hand along the bench-top to support himself but let out a short cry as something sliced through his glove into his finger. Beclyn was instantly at his side, holding his finger under the torchlight. A light trickle of blood bled from the cut.

"Be careful," she warned him, then quickly wrapped the abrasion in a band aid to keep it from bleeding with surprising accuracy, despite her own broken fingers. Sam stared after her, stunned, as she continued forward through the kitchen. Dean came up behind him, his brow creased in concern.

Sam turned his head towards his brother so that only Dean could see him mouth, "_She actually cared."_

Dean shrugged, even though he knew it was a remarkable change to witness affection in the fiery brunette's personality.

"Dean, Sam, come on," Beclyn whispered loudly from the other side of the room.

Both men wondered if it was the first time she had ever called them by their real names.

As they side-stepped over broken glass, Sam asked, "Why is she so different all of a sudden? She's never cared if either of us has been hurt before, and she has never called us by our names."

"Sure she has," Dean defended Beclyn.

"Sure, when she was _insulting _us or trying to _kill_ us, but now she feels different. Like, you know, she's not going to explode every three seconds."

"She wasn't going to _explode_--"

"You know what I mean!" Sam insisted in a huff. "She was always ready to attack one of us, or scream, or act like we'd done something horrible to her. Now she doesn't do anything. She just seems..."

"Hurt?"

"Well, maybe that as well, but I was more thinking _fragile_, or _affectionate_, or--"

"She hasn't changed, Sam."

Sam stopped and grabbed his brother's shoulder. "You look at her and tell me that she doesn't seem paranoid to you or scared that something's going to happen."

Dean shrugged Sam's hand away. "She's fine, Sam."

Sam sighed then said, "Fine, but you can't hide the fact that there's something going on between you two."

"What?!" Dean's eyes widened, shocked that his brother had come to _that_ conclusion of all things.

"I heard you guys talking yesterday morning," Sam explained.

Shrugging, Dean tried to push Sam off but his younger brother continued.

"You were worried about her, Dean. You were afraid that she had done something or was going to do something--"

"There's nothing going on between us, Sam!"

"Then why did you act offended when you asked if some guy was her former boyfriend?"

"I did not act--" Dean bit his lip then checked to see if Beclyn was still out of earshot. "Look, Sam, now is not the right time or place to start saying these things. And, also, there is nothing going on between us. You're just causing trouble."

Sam raised an eyebrow, knowing that he was prodding at one of Dean's exposed nerves. There was only one thing he could do - prod further.

"You could barely keep your eyes off her earlier," Sam pointed out subtly, not willing to let the subject drop.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Dean snapped, rolling his eyes, exasperated. "Can't you just let something go? Why are you suddenly on my back about this?" He kicked a fallen, splintered stool from their path.

"Why _shouldn't _I be on your back about this?" Sam continued, studying the house walls from a distance. "I know how you think, Dean. Your downstairs brain seems to be the only thing ever working for you."

"Give it up, Sam," Dean scowled as he turned on his brother. Both boys lost sight of Beclyn as they glowered at each other.

"I was just stating the facts," Sam tried to defend himself.

"Whatever," Dean hissed, beginning to walk away.

"Hey, and you know that—"

Abruptly, Sam was cut off by a piercing, shrill scream from within the house, followed by a gunshot.

- - -

Beclyn didn't like the house. The smashed glass, splintered wood, stirred dust, and the eerie feeling of always being watched could only point to one thing. It was a ghost, alright. A very angry one which had probably spent the last century of its afterlife plotting frightening vengeance against someone who was more than likely already dead. That was just her idea, anyway.

As she pushed past jutting pieces of destroyed furniture, Beclyn could hear the boys whispering to each other. She caught snatches of her name which was soon shushed out as Dean harshly murmured back to his brother. Any other time, Beclyn may have turned and taught them both a very educational lesson about keeping their mouths shut. After all, pain was a _very_ good teacher. But tonight, all she had the strength to do was to continue exploring the house and hope that she wouldn't end up with anymore bruises than she already had. It was bad enough not being able to use a weapon to its full extent. She instantly shut her eyes as a memory from her last nightmare erupted into her mind. _Her, lying on the floor, her arm outstretched, trying desperately to reach something that could be used as a weapon. Him, standing over her, his barbaric eyes hidden by the flickering shadows as he raised his foot and brought it down upon her fingers to slowly crush them beneath his weight._

It was a memory Beclyn could afford to forget, but the jolting, agonizing pain from her broken fingers continually reminded her of him – the lunatic. He didn't smile when he had brought his foot down, but his eyes… Oh, God. His eyes were _scary_. They were sadistic hard rocks inside his head which only showed joy at the suffering he caused. Breaking the bones hadn't been enough pleasure for him. He had to grab her pointer finger and try to rip the damn thing off. When that didn't work as he had planned, he had separated her fingers, slowly spreading them so that her little finger and wedding finger were on the left, and her middle finger and pointer finger were on the right. Then he had grabbed separately with his two hands and—

Beclyn felt a nerve jolt under her eye as she remembered him trying to rip her hand apart. The attempt was unsuccessful, but now her fingers were definitely dislocated. She was only thankful that it had been on her left hand and not her good one.

Although she was meant to keep in sight of the boys, she ventured further into the house. The living room was nothing more than a rectangle windowless room with a few pieces of scattered wood. The next room was more appealing. Despite the choking layer of dust, a foyer with a slightly curving staircase leading upstairs filled the room. Above, a chandelier hung untouched by human hands. Tiny specks of cracked, fallen crystal from the lighting lay across the unpolished black and white tiles. The room may have once been a beautiful, welcoming entrance, but now, it had an unpleasant air of desolation and neglect.

Beclyn approached the staircase. She stood at the bottom step and ran her hand carefully along the iron railing. She could feel the cold through her gloves and abruptly became aware that she was being watched. Apart from the almost faded light from the windows, there was barely any light filtering into the room. Beclyn thanked Dean silently for having given her a torch. She flicked it on quickly, shining it around her to test the beam. The light hit the chandelier, illuminating the room in an array of colourful shining sparkles before she diverted the beam. She figured that she couldn't hold both the weapon and the torch effectively at the same time so she clasped the torch in her armpit as she moved the gun to her right hand. The beam of the torch caught something from the top of the stairs which quickly scurried away from the harsh light. Beclyn turned within an instant, gun poised, ready to shoot.

Nothing.

Sighing, Beclyn lowered her weapon and shook her head.

"Fucking crazy," she scowled at herself.

Suddenly, something leapt at her from behind. Beclyn turned just in time to see the figure lash out at her with an exposed fist. Her eyes widened as she had two seconds to take in the large frame.

It was _him. _

It was the lunatic from her nightmare.

Letting out a terrified scream, Beclyn lifted the gun and fired a shot into the lunatic's chest. Her eyes widened as his chest clouded into a mixture of mist before recollecting to a solid shape. He had never done _that _before. The lunatic lifted his fist then swung at her with all his might.

She cried out as the fist rammed through her face. At first, she was shocked. She expected to feel the bone-shattering pain of the punch, but instead, the fist went through head and out the other side, his flesh misting before solidifying as he brought his hand back. He glared at her with his murderous eyes, the malicious intent still clear in their depths. Beclyn let out another cry as he advanced quickly upon her, his arms raised for another attack. She hurriedly brought the gun up to her eye level, ready to release another bullet, when suddenly two arms grabbed her from behind.

"No!" she screamed, kicking and fighting back as hard as she could.

He had her.

He was angry.

He was going to _kill_ her.

"Leave me alone!" she screeched. "_Leave me alone_!"

"Beclyn!" Dean yelled, his arms tightening as she thrashed against him. "It's me – stop kicking!"

She calmed almost immediately, her face torn between desperation and fear.

"He's here, Dean!" she pled urgently. "He's here! The lunatic's here! He's right here! Please, Dean!"

Dean waited until she had emptied her lungs and was gasping for air before he held her closely to him.

"Beclyn, there's no one here," he explained soothingly. "I came in and there was nobody here."

He paused as her gun slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor.

"You know you can't fire random shots. The place will come down if you do."

Dean extended his hand and brushed her hair from her face tenderly, cringing as she purposely avoided his eye contact.

"Beclyn, I know that you're angry, but we can't afford you to turn nuts right now."

"_He was right fucking here_!" Beclyn screeched in a loud voice. "He tried to punch me!"

Dean swivelled her around to face him. It took a second for her to realize he was checking for any marks or bruises.

"Dean, please tell me that you believe me," she begged in a soft, cracking voice.

He halted, looking her straight in the eye. Some stray strands of hair fell back into her face. He swept them up with his hand and tucked them carefully behind her ear.

"Let's just get this thing, okay?" he whispered, staring at her in the eye.

He watched her, expecting her to relax. Instead, her eyes glassed over as if she were staring at something distant from behind his shoulder.

"Why don't you wait in the car?" he asked. "Me and Sam can take care of ourselves—"

He couldn't see the figure sneaking up behind him, its arms outstretched to strangle him. Beclyn quickly grabbed her gun from off the floor and, with her eyes still glassed-over, took aim at the distant figure. Only problem was that her aim wasn't so good with her eyes glassed and blurry, which made Dean's blood instantly freeze in his veins as Beclyn pointed the muzzle straight at his face.

He didn't think before he acted. It was his immediate reflexes which made him lunge out at her. He crash-tackled Beclyn to the floor, her injured frame crumbling under his. Her head slammed against the tiles with a sickening smack. Dean instantly pulled himself off her, staring in disbelief as she lay, not moving.

"Beclyn?" Dean called loudly to her, bending down frantically to her aid as she didn't move. "Oh, Christ. Beclyn! Beclyn, can you hear me?"

Suddenly, blood sprayed from Beclyn's lips as her body erupted into violent coughs. Dean watched, terrified for the sake of the girl choking in agony beneath him. He didn't notice Sam's hurried footsteps to his side, or the loud curse word his younger brother used as he, too, realized their situation. All Dean noticed was Beclyn's head turning slowly for her eyes to meet his. Their eyes locked, pain meeting anguish. He had never seen so much hurt in those cold, blue eyes.

"_You didn't believe me_," Beclyn whimpered through a soft, pained whisper before everything went black as she closed her eyes.

Only hell knew what was about to erupt behind those closed eyes and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

**X – X – X**

She was back in the house. She just knew it, even without opening her eyes. She could already sense him.

She would have screamed. She would have run. She would have tried to escape.

There was only one problem. She was tied down to the iron bed and she was naked from the waist down.

And there _he_ was.

The monster who had tried to tear her apart.

The lunatic was leaning against the mantelpiece above the fireplace, his head turned to face the fire as the light licked at the exposed flesh of his shirtless upper body. Instantly, Beclyn's heartbeat raced in fear. She tried to scramble off the bed but her wrists were securely bound to the bed by thick, sturdy ropes. Although her legs were free, she was finding it difficult to move them due to a metal spring which had twisted loose from the mattress and was now sticking painfully into her calf muscle. She let out a cry of surprise as the sharp edge caught her skin and scratched it, leaving a trail of growing pearls of scarlet. The man's head inclined slightly to hear the cry. He didn't smile. He didn't laugh. He only stood, placed his hands by his side, and approached the side of the bed. Beclyn didn't dare move in case he tried to kill her. Instead, her eyes remained glassy and still as he slowly leant over her, placing his hands either side of her shoulders on the bed.

Then he kissed her.

Beclyn didn't return the lunatic's yearning kiss as he closed his mouth around hers. At first, he didn't notice that she wasn't doing anything, but when he tried to use his tongue to pry her lips apart, he realized that she wasn't cooperating. He pulled away and angrily glowered at her. A sound of a palm colliding with flesh echoed in the room as his hand smacked her cheek, making her eyes water.

"Let's try this again..." he taunted as he leant back down and opened his mouth for a tongued kiss.

Beclyn cringed as his tongue swept inside, wetting the insides of her mouth with his drooling saliva like an intrusive slug. She flinched as he ran his hot tongue over the large tear she had bitten in her gum when Dean fell on top of her, only moments before. She wished that Dean was with her, helping her, keeping her safe from the lunatic over her. Beclyn didn't realize that her yearning for someone else made the lunatic even more aroused.

He reached out and wrenched at her broken fingers, causing them to crack and snap. Oh, how he had _loved_ deforming each and every bone.

Beclyn closed her eyes, wishing she were anywhere else but _there_. Suddenly, her eyes flew open as she felt something slice into her wrist. The lunatic had a wooden-handled knife over the veins in her arm, cutting away as if her flesh were nothing more than warm butter.

He pushed the bloody wrist to her face like an excited child explaining a science project.

"These marks mean that you are _'the_ _chosen'_" he explained, seriousness creeping into his tone while he removed his leather belt and let it drop to the floor. "It means that everything I do to you is what you deserve..."

The new marks seemed like nothing more than a twisted psychopath's artwork. They were something only the artist could appreciate.

The lunatic paused, then leant over her neck, his hot, animal breath on her skin as he licked his lips. He extended his tongue and tickled at the soft flesh. Beclyn tried not to shiver in revulsion as he slowly made his way down to her shoulders, then to her roughly covered breasts, before halting at the gentle curve of her stomach. He licked his lips again. Beclyn did not – even for one second – trust the excited gleam in his eye. Abruptly, the knife was out again.

He slowly traced a long, deep cut into her side. Beclyn buckled slightly, only managing to pull away for a second before the lunatic wrenched her back by her hair.

"You've done things in your past..." he hissed menacingly in her ear. "You took lives to prove you're better, but then you denied your master and ran... You're going to regret everything you ever did..."

He brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them, letting the saliva drip from his sharp nails. His other hand moved to her naked thighs where he used his forefinger and thumb to spread them, making an opening for himself.

"_FUCK_ _OFF_!" Beclyn roared instantly, snapping her thighs shut. She had let him beat her, snap her fingers, use her for a punching bag, but _no way_ _in hell_ was she going to be used for _that_. The lunatic must have realized she wasn't willing, but went ahead anyway. Once again, he lowered his hand. Beclyn was about to twist away again, but something stopped her.

"Oh, my God," she whimpered as she noticed the bulge in the front of his jeans.

He was hard.

He was _very _hard.

_Oh, my God, _Beclyn panicked. _He's turned on by this. _Another wave of revulsion spread through her. She had seen some sick things in her life, but he was by far the most insane.

She felt his hand move over her thighs, once again spreading them. He hesitated for a second. Beclyn knew that it wasn't from a battle with his conscience, but a ponderous pause as he decided what he wanted to do first. She could almost hear him question himself as to what would cause the most damage – perhaps he should cut her up a little bit more, or hit her a few times to add to her multitude of bruises, or maybe he should just get it over and done with, stuffing his incredibly hard cock inside of her until she was nothing more than a whimpering wreck.

The man began to extend a saliva-covered finger towards her. Beclyn tried to kick him but he held her down with his other hand. Beclyn could do nothing but stare in wide-eyed shock and utter a strangled gasp as he touched her before entering a finger into her.

"No," she moaned and tried to kick again. The lunatic was ready and instantly had her forced onto the bed, unable to move. "Let me go," she whimpered, the crammed finger being joined by another, before beginning to move inside of her, feeling her inner soft, fleshy walls. She heard thick, sloppy sounds as he pushed further. She let out a gasping cry as suddenly his fingers rammed harder, forcing themselves as far inside until it felt like he was trying to push inside his whole hand. She felt the nails cut from the inside. The amount of force he was ramming into her was too much that she began to feel the tender tissue tear around her opening. Blood trickled from her opening onto the bed, staining the grungy mattress with tiny pools of scarlet. If anything, it only made the lunatic push harder to try and satisfy his sadistic cravings.

"Please stop!" she cried, her voice shrill to the point of breaking.

He continued harder and harder, until she was gasping for breath as the pain tore through her.

"What a turn of events," the man sneered in low, husky tone. He pulled his sticky fingers out to run across her cheek. "Wasn't it the great _Beclyn Jones _who loved rape in the first place?"

"Get away from me," Beclyn pleaded, suddenly terrified that he knew her name. "You don't know who the fuck I am—"

"Oh, if there's one thing I know," he whispered teasingly into her ear, "it's who the _fuck_ you are."

Beclyn's eyes widened as a murderous grin filled his face, revealing his sharp, small teeth.

"Or should I say," he continued in his whispery breath, "you're just the little _fucktoy_."

A bright, white light filled Beclyn's sight as an image popped into her head of a sixteen-year old Beclyn standing in front of the same man who had her pinned to the bed. Except, this time, he was younger and seemed to be completely under her control as he stood naked for the peering eyes of the sixteen-year old. _The sixteen-year old grinned maliciously – almost the same as the crazy lunatic had just showed the older Beclyn – and leaned close to the upright, obedient man. _

"_You're _pathetic_," the sixteen-year old whispered teasingly with a harsh tone into the man's ear. "You're _disgusting_," she continued, placing a hand on his chest, letting it begin to slowly inch down his skin towards his genitals. "You're _filthy_ and you're _human_." _

_The girl ran a long fingernail down his bare stomach, testing how far she could cut before the man flinched. She halted when he didn't, no matter how deep she sliced._

"_I could use you, you know," the dark-haired girl said with a less than sane giggle. "Maybe we should play later, hmm? Maybe I should see exactly what kind of a fucktoy you are, hmm? What do you say, Jamison?" _

"_Beclyn_!" a voice from behind the sixteen-year old startled the elder Beclyn from the disturbing flashback.

She had pressed herself as close to the bed as she could while sweat dripped from her skin in thick, suffocating streams. Beclyn had to choke down a gulping breath to try to begin breathing again. That girl – her younger self – had seemed nothing more than alien to her. That girl was sadistic and mental.

The man's face appeared before Beclyn, barely inches away from her lips. She hadn't noticed but his knife had silently sliced away at her bra. It wasn't until she felt his hand engulf her left breast that she let out a cry of surprise. He instantly squeezed the soft tissue harshly, making her gasp in pain.

"You're _pathetic,_" he recited maliciously, except, this time, back to the terrified girl beneath him. He ran his hand over her breast, waiting for the nipple to harden. He ran the pink fleshy nub between his two fingertips roughly as the nipple puckered. Beclyn cringed, tears filling her eyes as he swept his tongue over the nipple before he brought his face to hers. "You're _disgusting. _You're _filthy _and now…" He grinned once again, his eyes darkening in malice. "You're going to die"

**X-X-X

* * *

**

**I'd better get heaps of reviews for writing that! It took me forever to get up the guts to try and write something so… yeh. The more reviews I get, the quicker I update.**

**Please realize that the next chapter continues with an explicit rape scene, so I'm warning in advance to anyone who finds it offensive.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Okay, so I'm wayyyy late with this chapter (Thank you, Sweetestkiss or else I would've just waited another couple of weeks unless you had asked me where the chapter was. It makes me feel special when people nag for the next chapter because it lets me know that people WANT to read it.) I've had relies over for the last few weeks and like there's no way in the world that I'm going to work on my chapter when I've got screaming, yelling, arguing, running people around the house. This chapter doesn't have the promised 'scenes' in it, however, they will be coming up soon through probably flashbacks. This chapter is short because I haven't had the time to put everything I wanted to into it! **

**However, despite that, I want to give ALL of the reviewers and readers hugs because without them, I wouldn't bother writing this fanfic. – hugs –**

**Warnings: Swearing, gore (this chapter is rated T).**

**Disclaimer: I don't own what you recognize. **

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 20**

Dean stared down at the peacefully unconscious body of Beclyn as she slept on the double bed. She sighed softly in her sleep, making Dean almost jump. Dean wasn't big on angst-filled chick-flick moments, but he felt that it was his fault that she was laying there, more than likely in desperate pain. Well, maybe he didn't feel it was _completely_ his fault but he still felt he was the most to blame. Beclyn would have had to be in pain; after all, he had almost snapped her ribcage and broken her neck when he landed on top of her. Goodness knew that the cuts and scratches over her arms and legs were evidence enough of that, but there was something wrong about those wounds. No matter how many times Dean had changed the bandages for the cut on her leg, it always seemed to keep bleeding – even after he had applied the butterfly strips which were meant to keep even deep surgical wounds together.

He wanted to look after her, tell her that it was okay, that he was sorry. Unconsciously, he reached forward and ran a hand through her hair. Although her hair was messy and tangled, it still entwined his fingertips, feeling soft and special. For a second he wondered if he could actually smell the fragrance of her. Instantly he snapped out of it. He was being corny, stupid and girly. God, he felt that he was behaving like _Sam. _So instead, he continued to watch her tenderly, staying at her side to protect her from the _nasties_ of the outside world beyond her dreams, not knowing that the real nightmares were in her head.

- - -

Unbeknownst to him, his brother was spying from just outside the door, his eyebrows arching ever so high as he watched the caring tender side of Dean unfold. Sam wasn't used to seeing his brother so… _gentle_. He couldn't help feel jealousy mix in his stomach. Dean was _his_ brother, as in, what right did _she – _the almighty bitch of the west – have to him? There had to be something going on between them. He just knew it. There were no excuses; there was only the plain truth of the matter. Sam couldn't help but feel slightly proud of his research skills. He had, after all, been the best researcher of his class at college and his marks proved that. It was almost insulting that Dean would insinuate that Sam couldn't read the body language of two people who were obviously somewhat involved—

Abruptly, for the first time in two hours, Dean stood and made his way to the kitchen. Sam leapt back from the door. Panic instantly tore at his mind. He could just imagine Dean's reaction if he found him watching the private moment. Sam scoured the kitchen table, trying to find something to occupy himself in the space of a split second when suddenly he found a newspaper. Pathetic and as clichéd as it was, it was all he had. At least he hoped it would work. He didn't have much time to consider any other option as his brother lumbered into the room, obviously exhausted from his lack of sleep.

Sam tried to look inconspicuous as Dean stretched his tired muscles.

"You were in there a while for a '_quick_ _check' _on her," Sam mused with an indiscreet cough.

Jumping slightly, Dean had completely forgotten that his brother was in the room. His embarrassment instantly reversed to light suspicion as he noticed what his brother was doing – or at least _trying_ to do. "Catching up on the latest news, _Sammy_?" he asked sarcastically.

Sam hissed slightly at the nickname but then realized the point of his statement. He was holding the newspaper upside down. If he had looked a little bit closer beforehand, he would have noticed that it was also six months out of date. So much for a cover-up.

"Okay, fine," Sam said as he shoved the newspaper away. Crossing his arms, he stared up at his brother in a condescending manner. "So…" he sighed, his stern gaze only belied by the slight twinkle of mischief in his eye, "are you going to tell me what's really going on between you two?"

Dean opened the fridge door for a beer but hesitated. "There's really nothing to say," he answered edgily.

"Oh, so the sleeping in the same bed, or the playing with her hair, or the moments together mean nothing?" Sam pestered. He had his brother cornered, and this time, Dean was not going to walk away without spilling the secrets.

"What?" Dean snapped, slamming the fridge door to turn on his brother.

Sam's jaw dropped. A defensive, cranky Dean could only mean one thing.

"I was right, there _is _something going on between you two!"

"Don't be an ass, Sam…"

"You've been having a secret relationship behind my back!"

"As if. I wouldn't be caught dead with her—"

"I can't believe I was right about you two!"

"Do yourself a favour and shut up, Sam," Dean spat with an angry hiss.

Sam's grin grew wide and childish. If there was one thing Dean could have wished for at that moment, it would have been to slog that dorky grin right off of his stupid face. He was so close to doing it when suddenly Sam muttered the most immature and blood-chilling line a younger sibling could mutter.

"I'm gonna call _everyone _and tell them that, '_Dean's got a girlfriend'_."

"Sam—"

"I'm gonna tell Dad, Missouri, Bobby, Cassie and Sarah…"

"Sam, shut up—"

"… that _Dean_ has a _girlfriend_."

"If you mutter one word, I'll—"

"_Dean and Beclyn sitting in the tree_, _k-i-s-s-i-n-g_," Sam began to sing in a high voice.

Dean couldn't hold it in anymore. God knows, he had tried to keep it inside, but now, he was really going to belt the living shit out of his brother. With a giant leap, Dean lunged for his younger brother. Sam let out a shrill shriek and dodged the attack by darting to the other side of the table to place some space between them.

"_I'm gonna frigging kill you, Sam!" _Dean hissed through clenched teeth.

Not even Sam's long arms could defend him from the punch that came flying at him from the other side of the table.

"_Argh!" _Sam cried out as he felt his jaw twist awkwardly. He touched it lightly then yelled, "I kink you boke my gaw!"

He turned away, upset and pissed about his jaw. Sam closed his eyes as tears of frustration and pain filled them.

_It was just a little joke, _he thought. _No need to attack me. I'm his little brother for Christ's—_

Suddenly, a cry of utmost agony echoed through the room. Sam's eyes flew open.

_Oh, my God… _his mind suddenly erupted into panic. _I so did not just cry, did I?_

Across the other side of the table, Dean's eyes widened as he watched his brother's back quiver slightly.

"Holy…" he gaped, continuing to stare at Sam. "Dude, are you, like, _crying_?"

"No!" Sam quickly leapt to defend himself. He swiveled on the spot to face his brother. Their faces seemed to mimic the other's confusion. Sam definitely was not crying.

"Well, if you're not crying, and I _never _cry, then who—" Dean started but was cut off as another moan filled the room, followed by a set of shuddered breaths and pained gasps.

The brothers stared at each other, their gaze not wavering as suddenly they both realized the sound was coming from the person in the next room.

- - -

Blood.

It was _everywhere_.

It was over _everything_.

It was over the sheets, the clothes, the pillows, the bed… _everything_.

But most of all, it was coming from _her. _

"Dean, what the hell happened?" Sam cried out as he scrambled towards the bed. His feet grotesquely squelched through the blood-soaked carpet. Screaming in pain while still asleep, Beclyn thrashed on the bed. Her bandages had unravelled, revealing the jagged, fresh cuts over her arms and legs.

Dean gaped from the doorway, his heart hammering in his chest. There was just too much blood.

"Beclyn!" he called, then began to hurry towards the bedside. "Beclyn, wake up!"

Sam had already made it to the bed and was furiously trying to place pressure on the wounds. He was finding it increasingly difficult as Beclyn was kicking too much in her sleep. She let out another howl of pain, then suddenly, her leg tore itself open. Dean watched as the exposed bone twisted _itself _within her fleshShe screamed in excruciating pain but failed to wake. Blood poured over the bed, causing the blankets to drip with crimson.

"What the hell is happening?" Dean murmured under his breath, his eyes wide.

"Dean!" Sam yelled from the other side of the bed. "I can't pressurize the wounds unless she stops fighting!"

Dean reached forward, ready to grab Beclyn's arms but wrenched his hands back as Beclyn's back arched off the bed. She grabbed her head and let out a bloodcurdling screech of pain. Both boys stared in horror as her face contorted, tears tricking down her cheeks. Then suddenly, she fell back to the bed with a thump. Sam and Dean stared for a second, both unsure of what they could do before Dean bent forward and pulled Beclyn into a hug. Her eyes shot open, the pupils shrinking against the bright sunshine of day. She rapidly looked around, trying to find something.

"Please…" she quivered then begged. "Please stop." Her eyes were staring towards the wall. She had no idea where she was. "Please don't do it again… Oh, God, please…"

Dean held her tighter as she whimpered. She choked for a second on her tears before breathing in long, hard breaths. Dean glanced over her. Her clothes were soaked, though not torn, even though he could feel blood seep through from the fresh wounds underneath her shirt.

After a few moments, Beclyn seemed to realize that she was back at the motel. Sam bent down, watching her carefully. Both boys could barely take in the sight of her in such a wreck. She had changed from being close to normal to something similar to a car crash victim in the space of a few hours. Beclyn coughed for a moment, clearing her lungs.

"Guys…" Her voice was barely above a whisper. She raised her head to glance between the brothers with pained, fearful eyes. "I'm ready to talk now."

**I swear that I'll try and get the next chapter out as soon as possible. I get to be extra devious in the next chapter – evil laugh -- . **

**Please read and review because you guys keep me going!**


	21. Chapter 21

**So here I am again, trying so hard to get a chapter out at a reasonable time. I know I should have had it out ages ago, but once again I am lazy. My beta harassed me this time. She was contemplating calling me earlier this week and screaming, "Have you even **_**started**_** writing the next chapter?!"… Me: Eeeeeep. **

**Also, let me have my little OMG moment as I've realized that I've gone over my expected chapter limit. Put it to you this way: I was meant to have reached this point in this story by chapter five. Ahhh…. Hello? Chapter twenty-one, anyone? **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the ridiculously hot, sexy, adorable, perfect, stimulating, handsome… -- author runs off to drool for a while. Returns ten minutes later --… Winchester boys. Thank you. **

**Warnings: swearing and adult themes.**

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 21**

"You saw her, Dean! She was _asleep_. Something was tearing her to pieces in her sleep!" Sam pressured.

"I know, Sam," Dean answered, exhausted.

The older brother sat still on the kitchen chair, turning things over in his mind. Both boys had been anxious since the overwhelming attack at Beclyn and were having enough trouble believing that she had been brutally battered, let alone figuring out what it had been.

"I can't believe I didn't see the signs," Dean muttered.

"What signs?" Sam yelled, exasperated. "There _are_ no signs! It's like looking for something that doesn't exist. She should have come out and told us if something was after her in her dreams."

Dean shook his head and began to rub his brow with a shaking hand. Sam glanced outside to Beclyn. She was sitting on the motel porch in front of the door, letting the sun warm her freezing skin. Her face was sullen and pale as her arms stayed wrapped around herself. After being bandaged up, she had sat herself outside the motel for some alone time and neither one of the boys were going to pester her for information when she was in such a sorry state.

"She had broken fingers last night and bruises all over her to match," Dean explained in a whisper, more to himself than to his brother. "Christ, the other night I thought she was trying to kill herself, not something trying to kill her…"

"What?" Sam interrupted, leaning closer to hear his brother. "What do you mean?"

Dean wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Up until then Sam hadn't noticed the tears forming in his brother's eyes.

"I went into the bathroom a few nights ago because Beclyn wasn't in her bed and the bathroom light was on. When I went in… There was blood all over the sink, the shower curtains, the bathtub… I thought she had slashed her wrists, Sam. I thought she had tried to…" Glancing away, Dean muttered, "I thought she had done it to herself."

Sam stared in disbelief.

_That's why Dean had been soft on her, _he realized.

"What could be doing it?" Sam asked, going back to his standing position in hope of changing the subject. "What can hurt people while they're sleeping?"

"Anything," Dean answered unenthusiastically, not being much of a help.

"No, Dean, really," Sam pressed. "What do we know of?"

Dean shrugged, trying to find something that fit the facts. "Poltergeists, maybe?"

Sam stopped. "Yeah," he said, nodding, too quickly accepting the possibility. "There're always stories of where girls are waking up with strange marks over their skin—"

"They're strange _marks_, Sam, not lacerations which were meant to kill," Dean contradicted.

"This one could just be a bit stronger than the rest—"

"The facts don't add up, there have been no signs of poltergeist activity. Besides, they attack you while you're sleeping, not in your dreams."

Sam let out a long sigh and crossed his arms. "Could be a spirit," he suggested.

Dean's head rose, scepticism clouding his eyes. "As in, '_Casper the Freaky Ghost'_ spirit?"

"It's, '_Casper the Friendly Ghost'_, and no, not like that." Sam leaned forward and softly bit down on his lip in concentration. "Remember the witch hunts a couple of centuries back?"

Lowering his head, Dean tried to follow Sam's train of thought.

"It was a brutal time, where if you didn't like someone, you could have them killed with little or no evidence of being a witch," Sam explained, his eyes focused on Dean. "You could be convicted of being a witch if your neighbour's crops failed, or if an animal died outside your house, or…"

Sam paused then turned away, his brow furrowed.

"Or… what?" Dean glanced up.

"Or if someone had a dream about you and they fell sick the next day," Sam continued. He was becoming more concerned by the second. "Of course, this was usually just used as an excuse to have people burnt at the stake, but really, what if some witches could do it? Like, really, really powerful witches?"

Dean's eyebrows narrowed. "A powerful witch, huh?"

"Yeah. It was called '_sending a spirit',_where a witch would disconnect from her body and attack somebody else's in her spirit form."

Dean's head swivelled towards Beclyn outside. "A powerful witch…" he muttered under his breath before he hissed, "Shit, Sam. What if—"

"What if it's the same witch that made us switch bodies? Yeah, I was thinking that too," Sam answered.

"_Fuck_," Dean swore roughly. He stood quickly and began to pace the room, anxiety hitting his nerves. He stopped for a second to glare at Sam. "I swear to God that I'll hunt her down and fucking cut out her throat—" he began.

"Dean," Sam whispered, trying to stop him.

"I don't care what Missouri said about her not being able to be tracked down! I'll fucking grab her then rip off her limbs, then salt her alive! She's caused us so much trouble. I swear I'll—"

"It's not going to help," a stern voice announced from the motel door.

Both boys suddenly turned to see Beclyn standing in the doorway. Neither of the boys had noticed her come in. She was holding her arm to her chest, but other than that, she seemed to be in better shape than what she had been only a few minutes before.

She limped into the kitchen, her cut leg disabling her. She looked between the boys, her gaze narrow and strict.

"I don't have enough time to kill the witch," she said emotionlessly.

The boys looked to one another then glanced back at Beclyn.

"We're just trying to find some possibilities," Dean stated.

Swallowing nervously, Sam added, "This isn't normal – even for us. I didn't even think it was possible to wake up with injuries sustained in a dream."

"Well, obviously it is," Beclyn snapped. Taking a deep breath, she brushed her hair back behind her ear. She tried to ignore the hiss from Dean as it revealed a giant gash beside her temple. Just another gift from the lunatic making her dream world hell.

"Look, Beclyn, do you think we'll have enough time to at least search for the witch? I mean, if she really is causing this…" Sam started.

"This is stronger than any witch I've seen, and believe me, I've been up against enough of them," Beclyn sighed, running a hand through her hair as the boys waited for her to continue. "This guy is nasty. He doesn't follow rules or restrictions. He attacks as if it's in his nature. He had the feeling of being a demon he was that evil…"

"He?" Sam pressed.

Beclyn faltered. "I think his name is Jamison. I know, it doesn't really strike as the name of killer of all killers, but he's bad."

"Jamison…" Sam pondered for a second. He glanced to his brother for help.

"I've never heard of him in any folklore," Dean pointed out.

"I know, neither have I," Beclyn said.

"Great," Dean sighed. "Just… great."

"Now what?" Sam wondered out loud.

The boys looked to Beclyn, waiting for an answer. Beclyn bit her lip, trying to think. Suddenly, her shoulders slumped. "I don't know," she replied in a feeble voice.

"Bec…" Dean approached her quickly and wrapped his arms around her in a comforting manner. "Don't worry. We'll find out who this guy is. Sam'll research it on the laptop and I'll check Dad's journal."

Beclyn leaned against him, not feeling very hopeful.

Pressing his lips to her ear, Dean whispered, "We'll get him, Beclyn. I promise. All we need is some time."

Inside, all Dean wanted to do was tear this _Jamison_ guy apart with his bare hands.

"Oh, yeah, by the way," Beclyn muttered, breathing in the scent of Dean's leather jacket. "He says I've got three days."

- - -

Beclyn stood by the kitchen widow, staring outside. There was a determined streak across her face, but as the moments passed it began to waver and crumble as cruel realism twisted her thoughts. Sam watched her from a distance, studying how she stood, wondering how she felt. One thing was for sure, she had been touched – maybe even raped. Sam had seen that anguished look on too many girls' faces; he had even had to help a girl after she had been gang raped right outside his and Jess's apartment. The world was a very scary place.

"Beclyn…" Sam finally stepped forward. He checked quickly to see if Dean was around. With Dean being overly protective, the last thing he needed was for him to hear what Sam going to say next.

Beclyn turned slightly, noticing him, but barely willing to acknowledge.

"Is it okay if I talk to you for a few minutes?" Sam asked, hoping that she would spare the time.

Beclyn paused then nodded her approval, showing Sam just how much she had changed in the past week. A fortnight ago, she would have snapped at him to go away and that he was a little snoop– but not exactly in those words.

Sam decided to skip straight to the chase. "Beclyn, why don't you tell me what happened last night?"

She froze, her glassy gaze staring outside.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, especially not with me—" Sam started.

"No," she interrupted She clasped her hands together on the window sill. "It's okay. I just…" Beclyn let out a long sigh, then said, "I know what you're thinking, Sam. You've been watching me for the last half hour reaching a conclusion as to what happened last night."

Sam glanced away for a second, guilty and speechless at being caught.

"Understand me when I say that I'd usually rather let stuff lie, but if there's something that he did which could lead us to who or what he is… I'd be grateful."

Turning back to her, Sam fully understood what she meant. He felt an emotional nerve twitch as he realized that she had said 'us', not 'her'. It was comforting to know that she no longer treated herself as the outsider; she was now treating herself as one of the gang.

"By 'him', you mean the man in your nightmares… Jamison," Sam stated. "Was there anything different about what he did last night compared to all the other nights?"

"Most nights he just goes nuts in hitting me, using me as a punching bag," Beclyn explained, "but last night was the first _real_ time he had used me for… _that._"

Sam tried not to take the words completely to heart. She _had_ been raped. Now he really wanted to hunt the bastard down.

"What do you mean by the first '_real'_ time?"

Beclyn hesitated. "He was always doing things which made me feel uncomfortable. He never full-on did anything before except… Well, he had licked me, but I don't think that makes a difference."

"Beclyn, that makes a huge difference!" Sam exclaimed. He quickly checked to make sure that Dean hadn't heard. "If we just start piecing things together, we could find out anything we want about him. I'll need your help."

Beclyn gazed down at her hands, thinking hard. "I'll try and tell you everything that I remember," she whispered softly.

Nodding, Sam grabbed a notepad and a pen, ready to write.

"Okay," he started. "Why don't we start with what was different last night?"

"Apart from the whole fucking me while I screamed?" Beclyn asked snidely. Her patience was wearing thin already.

"It might be important… but… When did you know that last night's dream was different from the rest? Did you get a feeling or a—"

"I woke up and I was tied to a bed," Beclyn explained.

"And that was different to the other times? Could he just have been possibly--"

"I was practically naked. Does that spell danger to you?" she interrupted with a hiss.

Sam shuffled, feeling embarrassed. "When did you see him?"

Beclyn shrugged. "He was standing near the fireplace, looking at the fire."

"What was he—" Sam began.

"He was wearing jeans, a belt, but no shirt," Beclyn answered before he could finish.

"Right…" Sam muttered, writing furiously. "And then he…"

Beclyn squirmed slightly. "Then he kissed me."

"He kissed you?" Sam exclaimed, surprised. He backed down as Beclyn glowered at him.

"So… umm…" he said while licking his lips. He suddenly felt very anxious to get this done and over with. "Did he do anything else before beginning to… you know…"

"Yeah." She seemed surprised as if she had just remembered something. "He sliced this into my wrist."

She thrust her wrist towards Sam, carefully peeling off the bandages which Dean had wrapped. Examining the crudely cut lines, Sam muttered, "Definitely satanic."

"He said that they meant something," she said, trying to remember, "like… _'the one'_ or… _'the chosen'_…"

"What did he do after that?"

"He—" Beclyn hesitated. She didn't know whether or not to tell Sam about the accusations of her doing things in her past. One thing was for sure; no way in hell was she going to tell him about the flashback of her being just as sadistic as _him._

Sam waited for her to continue. She turned away, a look of mixed disgust and fear written across her features. Sam instantly began feeling like he had gone too far as he blushed and babbled, "You don't have to tell me what he actually _did._ Well, you should tell me what he _did_ as in— Uhh… You just don't have to tell me what he _did_ do… Like, as in, _did_ – to _you_, I mean... You know…?"

His blush crept down past his neck as he fumbled with the notepad and pen. "Where were we again?"

"I was about to tell you how he fucked me," Beclyn answered emotionlessly.

"Oh, yeah…" Sam muttered in a small voice. He was kind of hoping he could avoid that topic.

"It was pretty horrible," Beclyn continued, her face becoming for ashen-grey. She glanced up and looked at Sam directly in the eye. "He didn't just rape me, Sam. He tears his victims apart from the inside-out…"

Trying not to raise an eyebrow, Sam didn't understand what she meant.

He was about to learn just what a scary place the world could be.

**There we go - another chapter out in the open. Don't feel afraid to ask questions as I love it because it means that people are actually reading – not just skimming. So go ahead. Ask questions. I'm even up for flames – anything to keep you guys happy. **

**R and R please and I'll be as quick as I can with the next chapter!**

** Huge hug to the loyal reviewers! You guys keep me going!  
**


	22. Chapter 22

**I told you this chapter would be out sooner, didn't I? ****This chapter wasn't too difficult to do. **

**My little sister introduced me to you-tube the other day. I did already know about it, I just didn't know that it'd work on our computer. So she called me in to the study at 10:30 at night to watch this really 'cute, happy ten-minute movie'**** (LIAR!!).**

**I sat down and found out that it was this bloody awful sad thing about a little girl with a puppy and she grows up with it, then the puppy dies. I was in tears for hours afterwards. I sat outside with my puppy and bawled my eyes out while he just stared at me going, 'WTF?', then he leapt over me and got my pajamas dirty! I didn't think that he gave me enough compassionate support so I went into my boyfriend's bedroom and what did my boyfriend do? He raised an eyebrow at me and called me over-emotional! – grabs toaster and**** goes all ninja on his ass – I AM NOT OVER-EMOTIONAL!!! **

**There was my life story… **

**Disclaimer: I don't own it.**

**WARNINGS: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M16 . HAS VERY STRONG ADULT SCENES. Italic scenes marked with an X – X – X mark the worst of it. Skip it if you don't want to read it.**

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 22**

**X – X – X **

"_I don't even know you!" Beclyn repeated, tears falling down her cheeks as she tried to edge away from his brutal touch. _

_Jamison sneered viciously, pulling her back. Her calf scraped against the out of place spring, making her choke on her tears. He began to pull her up off the bed. The ropes holding her wrists back strained, cutting off circulation to her hands. His hand made his way from her neck to her breast as he once again began to play. She bit down hard on her lip, trying to block out the pain. Closing her eyes, she begged to wake up. His hands became more and more rough, twisting and feeling before her skin began to redden and bruise._

_Finally, he let her go. _

_She fell back to the bed, gasping for air. _

_She closed her eyes, not willing to see anything anymore. The mattress rose several inches as Jamison climbed off it. Beclyn bit her lip, begging that he stayed away. Across the other side of the cold, drafty room there was the sound of a zipper and clothes being discarded._

"_No," Beclyn gasped. She knew what was coming next. _

_She almost wrenched her arms out of her sockets as a hand reached down and began to fondle her breast. _

**X – X – X**

"Wait… Hang on," Sam interrupted Beclyn. "You mean you knew something was going to happen while he was standing on the other side of the room?"

"Didn't I tell you not to interrupt me?" Beclyn snapped. It was bad enough that she had to relive the nightmare let alone have to explain it repetitively.

Sam repositioned his notepad as he clicked his pen distractingly. "So, you didn't hear anything… He wasn't muttering to himself or…?"

"No," she answered simply, "but I'll tell you one thing…"

Sam paused. "Yeah?"

"I wish I hadn't opened my eyes."

**X – X – X**

_Beclyn's breath caught in her throat as tiny beads of sweat formed streams down her brow. She let out a surprised gasp as something sharp nudged her leg. A rough hand began to make its way down her stomach. Beclyn wrenched back as it reached her crotch. She lunged out with her legs, managing to kick him hard in the stomach. Jamison let out a hiss then grabbed her leg. His painful, firm grip dug into skin as he drove her calf down onto the misplaced, sharp spring on the mattress. Beclyn screamed out as it easily tore through the flesh and dug haphazardly into her calf muscle. Beclyn's eyes shot open as she thrashed angrily. Something metal and shiny caught her attention, causing her to hesitate for a second. She thought it was his knife so that he could stab her again, instead, it was something sharp, metallic, sickening and…_

"_Oh, my God," she whimpered as she gazed at what he wore over his penis. _

_A sheath, far__ thicker than a condom, encased his penis. It must have been what had poked her earlier as it was covered with a mixture of short and long wooden spikes. Below the spikes sat even more dangerous sharp, metal shavings. They glistened in the firelight, hypnotizing her frightened eyes. She tried to turn away. She tried to not feel him open her legs. She tried to not scream in agony as he pushed his sheathed penis inside of her, but every time she tried to ignore him, the pain just became worse. _

_He arched then rammed harder into her, making her howl as the blood began to trickle. From her severed calf, crimson gushed over the mattress, making her legs pathetic and weak. _

**X – X – X**

The pen shook as Sam's hands quivered violently. He swallowed a giant lump of nausea and disgust in his throat. He licked his lips, trying to dampen cracked crevices of dry skin, but he had no saliva. The inside of his mouth tasted of something undesirable and sickening. For a second, he swore he was going to vomit.

Beclyn had tears in her eyes as she stared out the window. She had paused in her recount of the night before to collect herself, something she seemed to have terrible trouble doing lately. She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering the chill of the desolate house even though the fire had been roaring in the fireplace of the bedroom. She didn't want to remember his touch. She didn't want to remember her pathetic, defenceless form trying ever so hard to push away his rough, forceful body.

Beclyn jumped as Sam placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked directly at him, but her eyes seemed to be somewhere else.

"I was trapped, Sam," she whispered in a small voice. "He didn't stop. It felt like hours but he never stopped. It was horrible – being so pathetic. I kept begging him to get off of me – to get out of me, but he wouldn't." She blinked back her tears as she muttered, "He never stopped… It hurt so much…"

She closed her eyes as Sam wrapped an arm around her, temporarily neglecting his notes. She was shivering under his touch.

"I had blood all over me and him. He loved it. He loved having the power over me…" Beclyn bit her lip, trying not to lose it. "It wasn't until ages later… Not until he felt that I had been cut up enough on the inside and out… And that I had screamed enough… It wasn't until then that he leant over me and whispered that after three days I'll be dead."

"Beclyn…" Sam whispered soothingly. "It's okay. We're going to catch this guy and when we do there'll be nothing left of him for you or anyone else to hurt."

"Just, _please, _promise me one thing," she begged.

"Yeah, of course," Sam encouraged.

"Please don't tell your brother about last night."

Sam gave a light squeeze of her shoulder as he rubbed her back gently. Suddenly footsteps tapped over the laminated kitchen tiles. Turning, Sam saw Dean leaning against the wall across from them, watching Beclyn with a shattered, concerned look written upon his features.

"Dea—" Sam started but was cut off as his brother stepped forward and lightly grabbed his shoulder.

"Sam, can I talk to you for a second?" The look in the elder hunter's eyes made it anything but a question.

Sam gave a brief nod then turned back to Beclyn. "It's gonna be okay," he muttered quietly to her before being lead into the next room.

Checking to see that Beclyn hadn't followed, Dean asked his brother, "How's she holding up?"

Sam ran a quivering hand through his long, shaggy hair. "She's doing fine considering what she's been through."

Casting Beclyn a sad, protective glance, Dean felt that all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and _never _let her go.

"Is she gonna be alright?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. She hasn't given up yet. I don't think she's gonna go down without a fight."

"We'll have to find the guy who did it to her."

"I'm already gathering notes," Sam agreed in a mumble.

Dean bit his lip, trying to keep himself composed, even if tears were forming in his eyes. "Sam, I really… _really…_ I mean… I don't want her to..."

Sam glanced up, feeling like a weight had been heaved upon his chest.

"Yeah, I know, Dean. I don't want her to die either."

- - -

_Three Hours Later_

Sam sat at the kitchen table, clicking and typing away frantically at his laptop as he tried to find an answer to the abuse. It had been several hours since he had moved and his joints were starting to remind him of how painful sitting in one place could be. Cracking his knuckles, he let out a sigh and closed his eyes for a few seconds. The search was fruitless, yielding not even the slightest hint of a lead to work upon.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps behind him warned Sam of his brother's approach.

"Anything?" Dean asked anxiously for the fifteenth time.

A hopeless look from his younger brother caused Dean to begin pacing again.

"There has to be something," the older brother muttered.

"Dean, you've been saying that for the last two hours," Sam pointed out.

"Well, come on!" Dean pestered, nerves grinding at his voice. "Tell me what we've got so far."

Sam's shoulders sunk as he sighed. Dean had wanted to know what they found so far every thirty seconds.

"I've searched folklore, spiritual websites, world-wide library pages, I've Googled it, I've even checked occult chat boards… There's _nothing _about some guy called Jamison, Dean."

Abruptly, Dean's fist came down and slammed onto the table beside the laptop.

"There has to be _something_," the older brother muttered savagely.

"Well, apparently, there isn't," Sam sniped, feeling harassed. Leaning back in his chair, he drew a long breath and said, "It would help if we had a lead."

"Well, we don't."

"_Exactly_."

"Sam, come on!" Dean suddenly yelled. He ran his hand through his hair continuously, a terrible nagging fear at the back of his throat. Stopping, he made his brother look at him straight in the eye. "Sam, we _have _to find something."

"What do you want me to do, Dean?"Sam asked, irritated. "I can't just start sending out random searches and you've already called Bobby to find out about dream—"

"You don't understand, Sam. Beclyn is going to die in three days unless we find out what's causing this!"

Rubbing his eyes, Sam sighed and mumbled, "Unless Beclyn's missing out something from her dream which could help us find this guy."

"Are you telling me that the only option we have is to send her back there?"

Letting out an exhausted, drawn-out sigh, Sam muttered, "You know the answer to that just as well as I do."

"Right," Dean groaned, crossing the room to grab his car keys.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, stunned that his brother would even think of leaving Beclyn at such a time.

Dean paused at the doorstep, his face mysteriously masked by the midday shadows. "If we're gonna be sending Beclyn back to hell, the least we need is some supplies."

- - -

Despite the hot afternoon heat radiating off the dark painted parking lot, Beclyn felt much calmer and comfortable sitting outside rather than in the compact, enclosed walls of the motel. She had seen Dean take off in his Impala several hours ago, only noticing because of the incredibly loud, rattling exhaust pipe startling her as it tore out onto the deserted road. Despite her usual persona and the fact that there was a kind and caring person to listen to her only a few metres away, Beclyn felt entirely alone. She felt that nobody could help her. It was a new emotion hitting her hard in the face as she realized that she had only ever counted on herself, but she still felt reliant somewhat on the boys. After all, they had saved her from several things, such as screaming banshees, blood-thirsty werewolves, and frisky bar-dwellers. She had been there to save them as well. It was sort of nice, having someone to fall back onto… To have support where usually there was only oneself… To be cared for, and treated as an equal.

Suddenly, the Impala turned into the parking lot, once again startling Beclyn out of her reverie. Pulling into a close parking space, Dean switched off the engine and climbed out of the car. Beclyn watched, confused as he opened the door to the back seat and grabbed something in a bright purple shopping bag. She expected him to walk past her into the motel, but instead, swiftly made his way to her side.

"Hey," he greeted sweetly, sitting beside her.

Beclyn's eyes widened, surprised. "Hi," she answered back, slightly suspicious. She didn't want to seem too conspicuous but felt her curiosity grow as he plonked the bag next to her knee. "What's in the bag?" she inquired.

Despite the horrific morning they had been through, Dean felt a grin slide over his lips. She was completely transfixed with the bag, making her eyes sharp and alert while her facial features remained soft and confused. He blushed as he realized that she looked so cute with that expression.

"I went shopping and got you this," he stated, pulling out the object from the bag and tossing it into Beclyn's lap.

Beclyn's eyes became wide. "You bought me clothes?"

"Sort of," Dean laughed. "They're pyjamas."

Lifting the long-shirted garment into the air for a better view, Beclyn noticed that they were deep blue with buttons running down the front. She couldn't remember the last time she had worn actual pyjamas.

"I had no idea what the shop assistant was talking about when she asked about which size you were. I just said you were a cross between small and medium. There was only a choice of this and baby pink and I think you would have killed me if I made you wear pink so…" he paused, watching her as she pulled out the pants of the pyjamas and observed them. He smiled, knowing that she liked them. Absent-mindedly, he stated, "Besides, they match your eyes."

"Didn't catch me for much of a sweet-heart figure," Beclyn teased with a slight twinkle of mischief in her eye.

Dean laughed slightly. "Yeah, well, what can I say? Romeo's got nothing on me."

Beclyn stared at him, her face falling in confusion. "Who's Romeo?" she asked.

"You know… Romeo and Juliet," Dean started but stopped when Beclyn's expression remained dazed. "Never mind," he quickly excused, trying not to frown at her lack of pop culture knowledge.

Shrugging, Beclyn glanced down at the gravel on the parking lot. "I'm gonna have to go back there tonight again, aren't I?" she inquired bluntly.

Dean bit his lip. "Yeah," he answered, just as enthusiastically. He turned to her, trying not to seem too emotional as he asked, "You ready for him?"

Beclyn paused then shook her head. "Not even in the slightest."

Dean's shoulders sunk. "Oh."

"But I'll tell you one thing," Beclyn muttered as she stood, balancing for a second on her good leg as her disabled leg hung loosely from the joint, "I ain't going down without a fight."

- - -

**Yay, the story is FINALLY beginning to unfold! Just wait until I start getting REALLY mean. I want to begin unleashing things on the boys. It will be so much fun XD . Does wanting to seriously harm two hot guys make me sadistic? Oh well, wouldn't matter. I'm going to hurt them anyway. YAY! **

**Thank you to the reviewers of the last chapter. You guys deserve EVERYTHING for helping me continue this story. ****Coldestkiss77, Emsyd, 854439, Beecee, Hayley… You guys are rock on awesome! I also thank the past reviewers. I'm sorry if I left anyone off the list – I'm super tired XD.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Okay, this chapter is out far too late for anyone's liking. I had some stuff I had to get done which dragged on forever. My beta almost fell off her chair when I sent her the chapter. She was probably expecting it to arrive sometime next year. **

**I was sitting outside the other day and was thinking about all the TV shows I currently watch. Then I started thinking about all the shows I used to watch. I haven't seen those shows in a long time. I couldn't even remember the last time I watched Rugrats. Maybe I need to find my inner child… **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.**

**Warnings: swearing, violence, adult themes. **

**Deadly Betrayal **

* * *

**Chapter 23**

Beclyn's eyes fluttered slightly as a rush of voices entered her mind and began to scratch at her nerves.

"—_just a child—"_

"—_can't be trusted—"_

Each line had a flicker of imagery; an old man gesturing wildly with his hands—

"—_in this world, you will find yourself submersed in only bad things—"_

--a girl with vivid red hair, a young man in his thirties with black hair with a leering gaze--

"—_not human, Karla, this thing is a monster—"_

--a father-like figure with blonde-grey hair—

"—_please don't kill me!" _the last voice rattled through her skull in a hissing rasp.

It was the last image that remained etched in her mind like a bad dream on a hot summer's night. The voice belonged to a young girl who was pleading for her life.

One side of Beclyn's face twitched slightly. Had she killed that girl? Did she even _know_ that girl? Why was Beclyn beginning to remember things now when she had been ignorant of everything in her past for the past five years?

Exhaling a small sigh, Beclyn bit her lip. Maybe it was just the cold, frightening aura of the room. She felt an icy draught of air sting her cheeks as she watched the shadows climb the walls then flicker and die with the flame in the fireplace, listening as the wood creaked and strained to settle.

The house felt like a nightmare within a nightmare. She was confined once again to the room that had constantly brought horrors into her life for the last few nights. Thankfully, Beclyn couldn't see Jamison, but that didn't make her automatically safe.

The room was bleak and grey. The iron bed sat in the middle of the room, another painful reminder of the night before. She couldn't stand to look at it. God knows how long she had screamed and begged for mercy. A sharp pain stung between her legs as the memory came rushing back. Trying to put the awful image out of her mind, she stood, hoping that it would bring warmth to her lower legs.

It didn't.

Beclyn rubbed her arms as she crossed to the window, careful not to make any noise. A cloudy residue had covered the glass, making the view a foggy blur. Beclyn reached forward and wiped one of the panes with the side of her fist. She gasped as the abrasions on her fist stung. She glanced down to see that what she had been wiping was not a mist at all, but rather something small, white and crystallized. Bringing her hand to her face, she smelt the crystals. Her nose wrinkled slightly. No smell.

Beclyn glanced back at the window. There was a long, blank streak from where she had used her fist. Quickly reaching out with her other hand, she wiped her palm across the window. The unnameable, yet familiar substance clung to her skin like ice to warm flesh. Glancing out from the view she had created, Beclyn realized that the scenery was as bleak and grey as the room she stood in. There was a far-stretching forest of dead trees and fallen sticks in front of the house and just beyond the last branches was a white-looking lake.

There were no other houses. There were no roads. There was no civilization.

There was just this house in the middle of nowhere where no one could hear her scream.

Beclyn returned her gaze to her hand. It had stopped stinging but the crystals were irritating her skin. Smelling it once again, she brought her palm to her mouth then tasted the tiniest fragment of white. Instantly her eyes widened.

_Salt?_

Beclyn began to rub her hands over the pane as far as she could reach. It was everywhere – over the glass, the window-sill, over the ground outside. What had looked like snow had now changed into something more confusing. Beclyn stood on her tiptoes, careful not to hurt herself as she attempted to find a better view of the white lake. Suddenly, she caught sight of something moving behind her in the glass.

She barely had a moment to duck as a fist rushed from nowhere and slammed into the wall where she had just been standing. The portion of wall gave way and crumpled under the brute force.

"No!" Beclyn cried out and instinctively shoved out with her arms.

Jamison lurched back. With a hiss from his clenched teeth, he glowered at her furiously. A soft sizzling sound came from his chest. It took Beclyn a few seconds to realize that the soft sizzling sound was the skin burning away from his flesh.

Jamison's head lowered slowly to his chest, his eyes disappearing under his messy hair. He clenched his fists and began to quiver with malicious anger. It didn't take Beclyn even a split-second to know what was going to happen next – and it wasn't as if she was going to stand around to see if she was right.

She began to run towards the door. Jamison pounced with his hands in a claw-like formation to grab her. She dodged. She could see that the door was wide open, beckoning her to run faster. Beclyn could hear the heavy, running footsteps behind her. Her breath was burning her throat. She just needed to get through the bedroom door – she just needed to get out…

Beclyn almost let out a scream of relief as she made it through the doorway. All she had to do was turn and get down the stairs—

Suddenly, two hands pushed her from behind, shoving her with bone-breaking force towards the banister.

The weak wooden banister smashed as Beclyn's weight slammed against it. For less than a second, Beclyn's thoughts became blank as black splotches filled her vision. She let out a sharp cry as her body impacted against the ground. A thousand sharp splinters rained from above and showered over her body. Her broken fingers twitched as the pain rushed back. She tried to spit the metallic-tasting blood from her mouth as the fluid gushed from a new cut on her already split lip. She tried to heave herself off the floor with her left hand - an impossible task as her broken fingers snapped, eliciting an anguished-filled moan. In all her life – that she could remember - her body had never felt this much torture. Every ragged breath in this god-forsaken nightmare was excruciating. She tried to heave herself into a better position again, leaning on her arm for support. Abruptly, her arm slipped on the splintered remains of the banister. Her head smacked against the hard floor with a sickening thump. Beclyn gasped as her vision failed her for a second time. As her eyesight slowly returned, she caught a glimpse of a figure standing on the floor above, his head hidden in shadows as he stared down at her. Her breath became painfully rapid as she watched him watching her. Suddenly, he disappeared from her vision. Before she could react, the steps creaked as heavy, deliberate footsteps made their way down the stairs.

In front of her weary, tear-filled eyes, two leather boots emerged. There was less than a second of silence before he reached for her arm, brushing it slightly with his fingertips. If Beclyn were able to move, she would have cried out in pain. Even the gentlest touch had her nerves screaming in agony.

Something wet dripped from the second floor onto Beclyn's foot. Her toes twitched slightly as the slow dripping became a soft rush of water. A rush of dizzying pain hit Beclyn's head. She closed her eyes, trying to suppress the wave of nausea.

Jamison reached under her arm and scooped up her limp body - causing riots of pain along her spine. He turned and climbed slowly up the stairs, careful not to slip as cold water rushed down the steps. Beclyn's head lolled to one side, feeling far too heavy and painful to be normal. She could hear the sound of rushing water, but didn't have the willpower to figure how close it was.

Beclyn listened to Jamison's footsteps. They _clunked_, not stepped. They were loud, heavy footsteps which controlled her mind. Beclyn saw the boots in her mind, stomping down on the wooden floor.

_Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Splosh._

Beclyn's eyes shot open to the change in sound. Jamison's grip loosened. Beclyn felt herself fall as if she were in slow motion. It were as if she was frozen in mid-air, then suddenly—

_Splash._

Freezing water engulfed her body. It was a screaming wake-up call to her nerves and stung her wounds like needles. She tried to heave her submerged body out of the icy water but two hands abruptly splashed through the surface and pushed down by her shoulders. For a second, she looked through the water to see Jamison's face glaring back at her, cruel expectation in his eyes. Beclyn's reflexes snapped into mobility.

Instantly, she was kicking with all her might and swiping with clawed fists. The hands pushed harder. Water splashed across the room as Beclyn squirmed and tried to wrench herself free. Her broken fingers attempted to grip the sides of the compact space but she just slipped on the smooth, porcelain surface. Oxygen burned in her lungs.

"_Help me!" _she screamed under water. Precious air floated to the surface, distorting the image of Jamison further as she thrashed about.

Her cuts tore open. Scarlet flowed into the water.

It flowed into her mouth.

Into her lungs.

Choking her.

_Suffocating_ her.

Jamison's face leered at her through the red.

Quick, jolting images flashed through her mind.

_The horror of her parents in the car crash…_

_The fearful adrenaline rush of the demon in the tree..._

_The calm, peaceful feeling of Dean and Sam at her bedside…_

Horrific laughter filled her senses from somewhere else in the room. Someone was laughing at her. She could hear it so clear that it seemed that she wasn't even in water anymore. Her muscles seized up. Her hope deteriorated as the last oxygen bubble floated to the surface and disappeared. She watched Jamison watching her. He wasn't the one laughing, although it was obvious that he was enjoying watching her die. The laughter filled her ears once more. She was going to die and someone was _laughing_ at her.

Then everything went black.

. . .

Sam chewed his fingernails nervously, staring out the small window of the bedroom. The view was anything but spectacular; bleak concrete and flickering motel lights. Yet, it was as good a distraction as any. He hissed slightly as he bit through the skin and a small pearl of blood appeared under his nail. His attention was dragged away suddenly as he heard a spluttering cough.

"Dean!" Sam abruptly yelled as he watched Beclyn writhe and splutter in her sleep.

The whole upper half of her body lurched with struggling movements as her eyes remained closed. She twisted and lashed out with her hands, knocking the alarm clock and lamp off the bedside table. There was the sound of breaking glass as they crashed to the floor. A long moan escaped her lips, her eyelids trembling.

Sam launched himself out of his chair, screaming his brother's name.

Dean exploded from the bathroom.

"What the--" Dean cried out as he saw Beclyn.

"She was fine just a second ago…" Sam tried to explain, but couldn't find the right words quick enough as Dean pushed past him. Hundreds of cuts had covered Beclyn's bruised face and her skin looked deathly pale.

Dean grabbed Beclyn's shoulders and shook her lightly. "Beclyn?" he called to her. He shook her harder. "_Beclyn!_"

Suddenly, Beclyn's entire body went slack. An eerie silence filled the bedroom.

"Did you wake her up?" Sam asked from the side of the carpet, anxiety clear in his tone.

Dean blinked, confused. He brushed a strand of stray, almost-black hair from Beclyn's cheek. He tapped her lightly on the face.

"Is she—" Sam started.

"She's cold," Dean mumbled. He lowered his head to her chest.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, aghast.

Dean ignored his brother's question as his hand moved to mouth, then under her nose. "She's not breathing," he stated.

"Wha—"

"Damn it, Sam! CPR and compressions. _Now_!"

Sam jumped in his spot, startled. He didn't wait to be called again as Dean lay Beclyn on her back. He was about to administer CPR before Sam stopped him.

"Should do it on the ground," Sam said numbly through confusion, his tongue feeling like it was stuck to the roof of his mouth. "…Better working on the ground."

Instantly dragging her off the bed, Dean lined her up, readying her unconscious form for CPR.

"Do the compressions. I'll do the mouth-to-mouth," Dean ordered. Sam didn't argue.

They began the CPR, first doing one round of compressions to breaths, and then repeating.

Then another round.

And another.

And then another.

By the eighth round, Sam was blinking sharp, stinging tears from his eyes. His hands felt weak and his whole body felt exhausted. His hope had slowly begun to vanish on the fifth set of breaths. The only reason he continued was the wide-eyed, frantically determined look on his brother's face.

"Dean—" Sam whispered upon the ninth round.

"Keep going, Sam," Dean urged.

Sam's breaths came out in short shudders. He wasn't a person to give up, but he was afraid that if he continued he would lose it altogether.

"Please, Dean…"

"Come on," Dean muttered to Beclyn, moving his legs so that he could administer the compressions and the breaths.

A tear slid down Sam's face as he backed away slowly. He scrunched his eyes and turned his head, not being able to bear the situation any longer.

"It's no use," he mumbled softly. "She's—"

"_She's not dead, Sam!_" Dean yelled. As if to emphasize his point, he smacked his fist down hard into Beclyn's chest. "_She's not dead, she can't be_!"

With a deep breath, he blew as hard into her lungs as possible. Suddenly, a massive wave of water rushed down his throat as Beclyn coughed and spluttered. Dean joined the coughing for a second as he tried to empty his lungs before turning back to her.

Sam turned, his eyes widened to large, round discs. In disbelief, he muttered, "Water…?"

Beclyn choked for a moment, hurling up at least a jug of the foul, now acid-tasting liquid. Dean leaned forward and pulled her into his arms, rocking her backwards and forwards as if he was trying to calm a child.

Sam licked his lips nervously, abruptly feeling like he was imposing. "Beclyn," he said softly, "what happened?"

There was a soft moment of silence in the room apart from the retching coughs. Then instantly it was over.

Beclyn's eyes shot open furiously. "You wanna know what happened? Jamison just went back on his three day rule. _That's_ what happened."

Sam knew the words weren't spat at him, but he still felt as if he had been slapped. He realized that she had almost died and was angry. But now she was going to die again if she went back to sleep.

Dean eyed Beclyn with gentle care. He waited until she was ready, then let go of her.

Rubbing a hand through his hair, Sam hoarsely muttered, "Great. There goes all our planning time. Now we have nothing."

"Not quite," Beclyn interrupted, a malicious grin appearing on her face.

Both of the brothers felt tiny prickles of cold shivers run down their spine at her determined glare.

"I think I may have found our only weapon," she revealed, spitting more water residue from her lips to the floor. "And this time there's no mistakes. I'm going to kill the fucker whether I go down with him or not."

. . .

**TBC**

* * *

**The next chapter will be interesting, I promise. I may have to work on it for a week or a fortnight to get it up. Don't hesitate to poke me if I'm taking too long! I really need the support to get chapters up. **


	24. Chapter 24

**This chapter is out sooner than expected. I had so much fun writing this chapter. It's so great to write on the opposite side where everything is coming together. **

**Please let me know what you think!**

* * *

Deadly Betrayal

Chapter 24

"_You are going to love her, brother…"_

"_Found her near here…"_

"_Amazing, is she not?"_

The old man opened his eyes. He blinked tiredly. Within his mind he let the thoughts jumble, form, and then disperse as if they were memories best forgotten. He raised a hand gingerly to his throbbing head. He cursed the part of nature which created headaches. For all he knew that part of nature was cursing him back, saying that if humans had to suffer, demons had to suffer, too.

Closing his eyes, he listened carefully to the everyday sounds of the Cave. Near the doorway there was the continuous dripping of brackish water. The aural assault of street traffic filtered through the corroded steel bars. He knew it must be morning as he could hear the thumping of thousands of rushed footsteps heading separate ways throughout the cold, stony walls of the Cave. However, there was a new sound this morning. Somewhere far beyond the cold, tiny room, there was an unusual sound.

_Laughter._

Removing himself from his seat, the old man stretched before setting out amongst the narrow, dark hallways of filth-stained cement. The laughter bounced and echoed off the walls, helping him guide his way towards the sound. He combed his hand through his grey hair, making himself slightly more presentable in case he stumbled across someone along the way. He took wide, lengthy steps which became faster as the laughter grew louder as he neared. Suddenly, he opened a door and the laughter overwhelmed him. His head throbbed heavily as he blinked against the electronic whirring and buzzing within the room.

"What the…" the old man started, his mouth agape.

"Ah, brother!" a voice called.

The old man squinted through the glare. He could make out a long set-up of monitors against a wall to his right while there was a cramped stack of discarded electronic gadgets in the corner to his left. In front of the monitors there was a man in his mid-thirties with short, black hair. The man had his eyes on the monitors as he leaned back on a newly bought office chair, short bursts of laughter escaping his throat every few seconds.

Stepping into the room, the old man shut the door behind him.

"I see you're awake," he remarked gruffly.

"I never sleep," the younger man replied, his gaze not moving from the monitors.

The older man moved to his brother's side, trying to watch what was on the monitors. The image was blurry and full of static. He could make out two figures in the image, but when he concentrated his head released a sharp jab of pain. There was a moment of silence, apart from the short bursts of laughter from the sitting man.

The older man scrubbed his face with the back of his hand. "What are you doing?" he finally asked.

The sitting man shrugged. "Just watch."

Abruptly, the image cleared for a moment. The older man squinted, then suddenly, his eyes widened in horror. There was a girl writhing naked on a bed as a man climbed on top of her. The image buzzed and cleared. A dark liquid poured from several wounds on the girl's stomach. Although there was no sound from the monitor apart from electronic whirring, the old man knew that she was screaming.

"What the hell is this?" the old man cried out. He lurched away from the monitors, his hands trembling. "Are you spying on people? Is that… _Jamison?_ Who's the… Oh, Christ… Is that… Can't be… _No…_"

Another burst of laughter erupted from the sitting man, except this time, it was at the older man's loss of words.

"I told you I would get my revenge, did I not?"

The older man glanced at the other monitors. Each screen had a different image. There was one with the same girl being beaten to a pulp, her falling to the floor, her thrashing around in a bathtub. Each had Jamison as the villain. Each made the old man want to vomit.

"It's amazing what technology some people invent. This machinery is connected to a dream," the younger man preened. "All you need is the subject and a desired target and the machine is ready to – how would you put it... '_Roll'_?"

Biting his lip, the older man said, "By subject, you mean your son."

With a slight gesture of the hand, the younger man excused the statement by continuing. "The whole concept is brilliant. With a potion, I can not only unleash a powerful force against _that_ _girl_, but I can also watch the process via this machine!"

"And where, may I ask, did you get this potion?" the older man pressed, a sudden anxiousness occupying his nerves.

_Please don't tell me he got it from--_

A boyish grin covered the younger man's face. "Say… a little _birdy_ dropped it off to me."

"Are you _crazy_?" the older man gasped. "I can't believe that you would go to _that_ woman of all people! Not only is she _nuts_, but I find that she's a power-hungry wolf messing with things way over her head. I mean, for God's sakes, you know what she did to her daughter! In my opinion, I think anyone that uses their children as a means to satisfy their greed is just…"

The younger man burst into laughter again as on screen, Jamison had the girl pinned to a wall. Suddenly, she fell to the ground. Jamison slunk down next to her and moved closer to the girl's ear.

Raising an eyebrow, the older man remarked, "Now I see why you and that woman get along."

Still snorting on a laugh, the younger man inquired, "Why's that, brother?"

"Well, for one, you both use your children in greedy ways…"

"That's not true!" the younger man protested with a laugh. "We just both know what we want out of life – children or no children."

Both men returned their gazes to the screen. The older man felt uncomfortable watching such gritty images. It was… _inhumane_. Abruptly, Jamison snapped the girl's neck. She lay on the floor, dead.

_Thank God._

"See, now it's over. Turn it off," the older man sighed, relief rushing through him.

"Hmm…?" The younger man glanced up for a second, confused.

The older man gestured to the monitor, wondering why his brother seemed so calm.

"Oh, that," the younger man said casually.

"She's dead."

"No," his brother corrected. "That clip's set on replay. It's the clip from the first night _she_ met him."

"He just snapped her neck."

The younger man sighed, stretched easily, and then said, "Not quite. It's just a move to make someone unconscious. I taught him that myself." A wide playful grin emerged on his face. "Don't worry, brother. I wouldn't have ended my fun that quickly by simply snapping her neck."

The older man's stomach dropped. These clips were set on replay. These terrible, violent scenes had happened and were going to continue to happen. It was madness to watch someone suffer so greatly. For a second, he even doubted that the girl in the monitor was even _her_, but instead, just a poor, innocent girl who had happened to look like her.

He couldn't bear to watch it anymore, so he turned away.

"This is sick. Turn it off," he ordered, his arms trembling.

"Why?" the younger man asked playfully. He turned to face the older man, a mock pained expression across his features. "Why deprive me of my fun?"

"Don't be stupid. Turn it off," the older man hissed. "You know it's against the rules to inflict torture upon a human being for amusement."

"Well… I change the rules. I can do that, being the ruler and all," was the amused reply.

"You think this is _funny_?" the older man choked out. He clenched his fists, trying to remain calm. "If other demons were to find out about this, there would be an uproar. With you laughing like a maniac, someone is bound to find you. You will be executed for sure! And to send your own son, for God's sakes…" He bit his lip, trying to bottle his anger.

_I must not lose my temper._

For a moment he waited for a reply, then felt slightly unnerved when he didn't receive one. "Brother…" he started.

"Is _she_ really?" the younger man finally asked.

The older man exhaled a held breath. "What?"

"Is _she_ really a _human_?"

All humour and playfulness had disappeared from the voice, making it seem cold and harsh.

The older man rubbed his head with a shaking hand. "I don't know what you'd call her," he finally sighed.

Suddenly, the office chair swiveled so that the sitting man was facing his elder brother. The man stood, his face morphing into a menacing glare. "What would you call her, brother? Would you go so far as to call _her_ _human_?"

The older man watched as his brother's eye twitched. "You told me she was the _Chosen_…" he mumbled in defense.

"The _Chosen_?" the younger man bellowed abruptly, his face forming to allow malicious laughter. "_She _destroyed me! _She_ did all but _kill_ me. Do not _dare_ stand there and reprimand me like a condescending parent while I murder the damned creature who damned _me_."

Spit flew from his mouth as he yelled. The older man knew there was no point in trying to calm him.

The younger man's temple pulsed grotesquely through his skin, his teeth biting hard to refrain from obliterating his older brother. As far as he was concerned, this was a fitting death for the girl who had destroyed everything in his life and who had condemned him to years of waiting for the perfect opportunity to be rid _her_ once and for all. He had saved _her_, and for what? To be thrust aside like a puppy without a home? He had given _her_ life. _She_ was nothing without him. And yet _she_… _she_…

"Let us remember what this girl has done to your family," his brother reminded as he turned his head away. "_She_ tried to kill several of your children, most of which would be dead if there had been no intervention. And let me not remind you of dear, sweet, insane Maria…"

"_Shut up_," the older man hissed through clenched teeth, a new wave of hate rushing through him.

_Don't give me that 'dear, sweet, insane Maria' shit when you added greatly to it. _

There was a long silence in the room then, "You are one of the only people who know what _she_ did to me." The younger man's voice had softened, with most of the hate retracted. "I would have only hoped that you would let me kill her in the only way _she_ deserves." He sat down as if nothing had happened.

The older man stood still, feeling like he had betrayed his kin. With nothing much left to say, he walked to the door and muttered, "Just make sure you end it quickly."

With a shrug, the younger man yawned and said, "Fine. _She'll_ be dead by tonight."

The older man paused, then nodded.

_Maybe then you'll finally do your duties as a leader, _the older man thought.

* * *

**Good? Bad? Terrible? Please let me know. It's horrible when you write a chapter and get no feedback. Please review, even if it's anonymous.  
**

**I'll try and get the next chapter out by next Monday. If not, it'll be up by the end of next week. **


	25. Chapter 25

Deadly Betrayal

**Okay, so this one is up on time. I know it's long, but I really needed to get this story on the move. **

**Major ratings for violence, swearing, and adult themes. **

**This chapter may contain spoilers for season 1. **

Deadly Betrayal

Chapter 25

"You wanna do _what?_"

Beclyn leant back in her chair, barely listening as Sam lectured her.

"You want to just make a run for it, is that it?" the youngest Winchester stuttered disbelievingly. "I mean, all this time we've been trying to figure out a plan that will get you out alive and you're just saying that you're gonna…"

"Run for it. Yeah," Beclyn snapped. "It's better than trying to take on the bastard. I have more chance of survival if I catapult myself head-first into the Sun."

Sam raised a hand to his forehead. He rubbed his eyebrows, obviously stressed.

"There has to be a better way…"

"Well, there isn't, if you hadn't noticed," Beclyn reminded sharply.

Having no more options to argue, Sam threw an imploring glare to Dean. However, Dean didn't seem to be paying much attention to the conversation. He was finding it much more beneficial to stare at Beclyn, judging her wounds and how severely they would affect her if the situation took a turn for the worse. He had already made a foot-long list in his mind of the injuries he could see, including the broken fingers, bruises, cuts, stabs, and fractures. He couldn't imagine how difficult it would be for her to sit there if she had an internal injury like a punctured lung or broken ribs. Not to mention the unbearable emotional strain of not knowing whether or not she would wake up in the morning. As far as Dean was concerned, this was the biggest punch in the stomach he had come across for a _very _long time, and that included the incident when Sam was kidnapped by hillbilly loonies.

Slouching in his chair, Sam tried to explore every option possible. His intellectual planning had never failed him before. Why was it so damn hard now?

"So you're gonna run for your life until you reach the salt lake and then…?" he said out loud, trying to organize thoughts in his mind.

Beclyn shrugged, and then winced as a stabbing pain shot through her shoulders. Dean sat up, instantly concerned. Shaking off Dean's reaction, Beclyn explained once again, "I'm going to get out of the house by smashing a window or something, then I'm gonna make a run for the lake."

"Do you even know how salt lakes work?" Sam stood, feeling that sitting down was bottling up his nerves. "Even if you get to the salt lake, if it doesn't have a hard surface than you're gonna have to swim."

"Then I'll—"

"You _can't_ swim in salt water. Especially when it has _that_ much salt in it to turn it white. The water's too dense. Without being able to swim, you'll just be a bobbing target."

Beclyn clenched her fists. "What the hell do you expect me to do?" she yelled angrily. "Do you want me to just _sit_ there and wait for him to beat the living shit out of me? Or better yet, maybe he'll try to drown me again. If running away is the best option I've got then I'm going to take it."

"Dean…" Sam whined as he turned to his brother, "Tell Beclyn she's wrong."

Glancing away from Beclyn, Dean's eyes looked glazed and tired. Sam realized he

wasn't going to be much of a help.

"Look," Sam started again, "maybe there's something we've missed—"

"Oh, _fuck_ this!" Beclyn sighed exasperatedly, standing up to walk out of the kitchen.

"Where do you think you're…" Sam started but was silenced as Beclyn stomped out of the kitchen. Sam flinched as he heard the bathroom door slam a second later.

Biting his lip furiously, Sam whispered harshly to Dean, "You're gonna have to talk to her. This is _suicide_!"

Dean shook his head doubtfully. "No, Sam," he muttered. "This is survival."

- - -

Beclyn placed her hands on the rim of the wash basin and tried not to hurl. Dark hair fell from behind her shoulder into the sink. She didn't have the strength to push her hair out of the way. Tears of terror and exhaustion dampened her eyes.

_What the hell did I do to deserve this? _

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hands, she glanced into the mirror.

_Jesus, _she thought. _I look like a wreck._

Her face was a mixture of black and blue bruises. Thousands of cuts had formed over her face from the night before. Most were swelling up and infected. A particularly nasty slash across her cheek was oozing pus mixed with blood. Her right eye trembled dangerously as she patted her swollen eyebrow with a shaking hand.

_Even if I do manage to somehow get out of this, I'm going to be hideous for the rest of my life. I'll be a mass of scars and infected flesh until I'm sixty. _

Scrunching her eyes against the self-pity and fear, Beclyn felt a huge balloon of hateful fury overwhelm her. She smacked her fist onto the porcelain rim in frustration.

_Why should I be the one to die?_ A voice screamed inside of her. _What the hell have I done to anybody? _The suddenly, she felt another fear dawning down on her shoulders. _I don't want to die._

Collapsing against the bathtub, Beclyn let out a low moan. She didn't even look up as Dean opened the bathroom door. Dean instantly felt déjà vu as he saw Beclyn sitting on the filthy tiles. He couldn't believe that it was only a few nights ago that he had thought she was trying to commit suicide. He remembered the blood being everywhere, staining everything.

Kneeling down next to her, he gently pulled her from the ground and sat her on the bathtub edge. Sitting next to her, he pulled her into a one-armed hug. After a few moments of silence, Dean softly said, "You're not in this alone, you know."

Beclyn shook her head against his shoulder. Letting out a sigh, he ran a hand through her hair. He flinched slightly as his fingers touched the bald spot from where Jamison had yanked out her hair.

Leaning against his weight, Beclyn mumbled, "Well, this has just got to suck."

Dean chuckled slightly. "_Well, hasn't this got to be the cherry of disappointment on top of the sundae of despair_," he quoted.

"Come again?" Beclyn said, her eyebrows knotting in confusion.

Hugging her tighter, Dean muttered, "Never mind."

They sat together, hugging for a few minutes before Beclyn stated, "I don't care what Sam says. I have to run. It's the only thing I've got."

"Mm," Dean replied, absently stroking a cut on her forehead.

"This whole situation has just turned into bullshit," she continued. "It seems like the more I try the closer I get to being killed." She let out a long sigh. "When this is over, I'm taking a holiday."

"Like one of the really long ones to the Bahamas?" Dean joked.

"Yeah." Beclyn grinned. "With the whole cherry-in-the-drink thing and the blue pools with the suntan lotion."

At first, they both giggled and chuckled softly before they both erupted into full blown, hearty laughter.

"You couldn't afford to go to the Bahamas!" Dean laughed.

"I don't even like the Bahamas," Beclyn smirked back.

"You'd hate it," he told her.

"I can barely even swim," she confessed with a fit of wheezing giggles.

Suddenly, he kissed her. They both almost fell off the bathtub as their lips joined.

Beclyn could feel the tight skin of Dean's lips while Dean could taste a mixture of blood and sweat from hers. Despite all the cuts and swelling bruises over her face, Beclyn's lips were actually quite soft. They pulled away from each other.

There was a moment of silence. Neither could look at each other in the eye. They both felt much less embarrassed glancing at odd things around the tiny bathroom rather than each other.

"Well, this is awkward," Dean finally said, running a hand through his hair.

"Just a bit," Beclyn agreed, knowing that under the mass of bruises and cuts, her cheeks were flushing bright crimson.

The silence stretched on between them. Only the sounds of the dripping faucet from the basin and the buzz of the bathroom light bulb filled the room.

After a few more moments, Beclyn muttered, "I don't want to be cliché, or rude, or anything, but that was pretty stupid timing for a kiss."

Dean shrugged, speechless.

"I mean," she went on, "considering all events, I'm probably going to either be dead tomorrow morning or pretty close to it. That's gonna kind of suck, just if you had forgotten."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, a tinge of guilt entwined in his voice.

Not once did their eyes meet.

"Well, I guess that's that, then," Beclyn said plainly, standing up. She stretched her arm, even though she didn't have to, before saying, "I'd better go prepare."

Then she left the bathroom, leaving Dean sitting on the bathtub, both of them feeling as guilty and as embarrassed as each other.

- - -

_Cold. Dark. Damp. _

Beclyn's eyes shot open. She quickly checked the room for any stray homicidal maniacs named Jamison.

No one. Good.

Her eyes spied a steel fire-poker beside the unlit fireplace. Her body sprung into action before her mind had completely grasped all of the surroundings. She had seen it all before. The bed, the bedroom door, the window.

_The window._

Beclyn grabbed the fire-poker. She crossed to the window and weighed the heavy bar in her hands. She grasped it tightly, feeling the cold metal as she swung it behind her. Suddenly, she smashed it into the glass window. The fire-poker bounced off the glass as if it were hitting something rubber. It clattered to the floor with a metallic ring.

"_Shit_," Beclyn gasped, her eyes widening in fear.

She grabbed the fire-poker again, and then swung with all her strength.

"_No,_" Beclyn cried out. The glass sat as if it were untouched. There was no smashed glass, no chinks, not even the tiniest of scratches.

"_No, no, no, no, NO!_"

Something fell over downstairs. Beclyn heard it rattle as it rolled across the floor. Footsteps echoed into the room from the kitchen. She clenched the steel bar tightly.

He was here, and he could hear her.

She weighed her options quickly. Stay and be cornered, or go downstairs and fight.

Biting her lip, she held onto the bar with trembling hands, and then started to make her way towards the door. As she made her way closer, she could see the splintered remains on the floor from the night before. There was a gaping hole where the banister used to be. Ever-so-slowly inching to the staircase, she checked the floor below her. She could see the entire bottom floor except for the dining room and a small part of the kitchen. Holding her breath, she took her first step onto the staircase. Apart from a slight creak as the wood stretched under her weight, there was no sound. She bit her lip as she took another step. Each step felt damp under her bare feet, and she felt the freezing cold bite at her flesh as she continued down the stairs. She approached the room to her left cautiously. She quickly checked around the room. Nothing. That only meant one thing.

He was in the kitchen.

Beclyn moved to the front door silently. She tried to turn the door knob. It wouldn't budge. Locked. Biting her lip to refrain from cursing, she crossed to the wall which concealed her from the kitchen's view. She listened intently, trying to hear him. There was no sound. She weighed the bar in her hands. It was a useful weapon, but against _him_?

It wasn't like she had much of a choice.

Giving the bar some leeway to swing, she abruptly turned the corner, ready to smash the fire-poker into anyone standing in her way. She was about to scream, but stopped when she saw the kitchen. There was nobody there. She took a step back, her breath inhaling in shallow gasps as she tried to figure out what had happened.

She knew he was downstairs, but where could he—

There was a sudden roar from behind her. Beclyn swiveled in her spot to see Jamison launching himself at her as if he were crash-tackling a football player. She cried out and managed to swerve before he grabbed her. He went charging into the wall, the door completely smashing under his weight and force. Beclyn only had a moment to think as he climbed to his feet. He had left a nice gaping hole big enough for a person with a small build to climb through. Jamison snarled like a rabid animal then lunged again. Without a second thought, Beclyn swiftly dodged. As he stumbled past her, she turned and thrust the fire-poker through his shoulder. She didn't even hesitate a moment before she was scampering out the hole in the front door. She was already halfway down the front porch before Jamison realized that his prey had escaped.

Beclyn let out a short, sharp cry as Jamison released a monstrous roar. She tripped on the porch steps and went flailing through the air before hitting the ground hard. She climbed to her feet instantly. She could hear Jamison tearing at the door from the inside of the house.

_Run,_ she urged herself. _RUN!_

Her legs were pumping before she could get her mind around the idea that she was outside and a step closer to freedom. It was at that moment that she reached the forest of dead bushes and naked trees that the front door was ripped off its hinges. She let out a short scream as Jamison came thudding down the porch behind her. She shoved her way through the bushes, feeling the tiny, prickly twigs scratch her hands and face. The nimble branches from trees snapped and became caught in her hair. Prickles tore at her feet, slicing them open and wedging into her sores. She shoved herself forward, all the while hearing Jamison thud after her. She could hear him snort and snarl only a few steps behind her. Through the trees, she could see the white salt lake. All she had to do was run. She was getting closer. Jamison's breath was on the back of her neck. She was practically there, and then…

Beclyn felt herself falling as she missed her footing. She let out a shriek as her shoulder thumped against something hard and grainy.

Hissing as her shoulder was pressed under her weight, she heaved herself off the… ground?

She was standing on the salt lake. Apart from the salt being slightly difficult to stand on, the surface seemed quite stable. So much for Sam and his swimming idea.

A screaming roar from behind Beclyn made her feet move into motion. The salt was terrible to run on. Most of the grains had hardened and had become somewhat of a hard surface, but some places were slippery and as soft as sand. The cuts on her feet were sending screaming signals of agony to her nerves as the salt stuck to her sweat. Suddenly, there was a thud a few feet behind her. Jamison had leapt onto the salt lake and was quickly gaining on her.

_The salt! _Her mind screamed. _He's meant to have a weakness to salt!_

Beclyn felt her feet go numb. There was just too much pain and exhaustion. Jamison wasn't going to die. He wasn't reacting to the salt. He was going to catch up with her. He was going to smash her to pieces. She was going to die.

A sizzling sound abruptly attacked Beclyn's ears. Her feet slowed to thudding trudge. She didn't have the strength to run anymore. Turning around, she saw Jamison coming at her, fists clenched at his side ready to throw the first punch. Something was different. Beclyn's eyes widened. The sizzling sound was coming from Jamison's feet. The salt was burning away at them like acid. As the salt burned through the top layer of his skin, flesh and tissue came apart and fell apart from the bone. Jamison let out an almighty howl, and then continued to pace after her.

Beclyn tried to turn around and run. However, her legs wobbled and refused to move. She could hear Jamison catching up. Then suddenly, she heard a giant thump. Jamison was on the ground less than ten feet away. His chest and arms were beginning to sizzle as he clawed at the salt to pull himself along. Beclyn gagged when she saw his feet, or what was left of them. Even the bone had sizzled to nothing.

Despite having his skin literally burnt off his body, Jamison still tried to get to Beclyn. She watched as he heaved himself across the last few feet between them. He didn't stop crawling once, even when his fingers began to deteriorate and fall from his hand. He didn't stop glaring at Beclyn, even when his chest and stomach skin sizzled to nothing, revealing the gooey yellow and pink insides of his chest cavities, ribs, and intestines. He didn't once scream in pain, even when half of his face oozed from the bone and his right eye melted in its socket. Beclyn waited until he was below her, grunting and snarling at her in malicious vengeance. She stared at him and he glared back with his only eye. Her shadow covered his face as her eyes darkened in anger.

She leaned down to his level, ignoring him as he clawed at her with his finger-less hands. She grabbed one of his arms and held it against the salty ground. For the first time, Jamison let out a cry of pain. Beclyn let go reluctantly, still staring at him straight in the eye. Jamison stayed still, almost as if realizing the situation he was in.

"You know the difference between me and you?" Beclyn asked snidely. Her face came closer to his, her fury overwhelming her as she recited, "_You're_ pathetic. _You're _disgusting. _You're_ the one who's filthy. But you know what? _I'm _the one who's human."

Then she stood and smashed his face with her clenched fist. His skull crumpled delicately under her broken fingers. His remaining eye squelched then popped inside his head. A pinky-blue mess of rubbery brains trailed out of his ears, nose, and remaining eye socket. By the time Beclyn stood, there was nothing left of what once was Jamison.

Beclyn stood still, not knowing what to do. The last parts of Jamison sizzled away in the salt. The wind seemed to stop in the trees and all sound halted. Beclyn rubbed her upper arms, suddenly feeling very alone and in a desolate place. She wondered if calling out for help would do her any good. The salt didn't seem to sting her anymore. She was just there, waiting for something, _anything, _to happen.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack of thunder behind her. Beclyn swiveled around to face the mountains on the other side of the white lake. Something resembling a black cloud was engulfing the scenery. It flowed over the mountain like a black, toxic liquid and hit the lake like an earthquake. Beclyn watched as it began to rush across the surface towards her. Instantly, she began to turn and run. Her legs didn't hurt anymore and she didn't feel so tired. Her legs pumped as she tried to escape the black cloud gaining on her. She _had_ to get away. If it got to her, something terrible would happen. She was running but the edge of the lake wasn't coming any closer. She could hear the claps of thunder from within the cloud as she scrambled over the salt which now just felt like cold metal. She was running, gasping, choking, and then—

Beclyn blinked. A bright light was flooding her vision. She raised a hand to her eyes to block the blinding, yellow light.

"Oh, my God," a familiar voice gasped. "She did it. She's alive!"

Beclyn wiped her eyes and sat up. Two faces blurred in her vision then cleared. Dean and Sam were sitting on either sides of the bed, their faces looking as shocked as she felt.

"Am I dead?" Beclyn asked them. She flexed her fingers. No pain. They weren't even broken anymore. "I feel dead."

Both of the boys' faces stared at her, making her feel weird as if she were a ghost. Sam shook his head and said, "Unbelievable. Your face…"

With her eyebrows knotting in suspicion, Beclyn asked, "What about my face?"

"There's…" Sam started, swallowing a large lump in his throat. "There's nothing wrong… You're…"

Beclyn sat up with such agility that both boys leapt away, startled. She ran into the bathroom and stared into the mirror at herself. She almost cried out in relieved joy. There was nothing there. Well, everything that was meant to be was there, but the scratches, cuts, abrasions, bruises, blood… It was all gone. She looked like herself for the first time in days. She flexed her shoulders, legs, back, arms, and then even every single one of her toes. There was no pain. Not one thing was broken. There were no stab wounds on her stomach, her fingers were fully intact, and there was no vicious hole in her calf muscle. She couldn't have felt any better if she tried. She just couldn't get over the fact that she was alive.

She stood at the basin for a second, too shocked to move, then suddenly she pumped her fist in the air and yelled, "_Yes_! Take that, you psycho, sadistic, crazy, insane, fucked-up son-of-a-bitch!"

Running out of the bathroom with a huge grin on her face, she pulled the first person she could find into a hug. She didn't even stop hugging him as Sam cried out, "Beclyn, you're gonna strangle me!" But he laughed anyway, happy to see her okay.

She pulled away from Sam and ran at Dean, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a quick peck on the lips. Dean gazed at her, his face flushing scarlet as he scratched his head. He was rendered completely speechless as embarrassment flooded through him.

Sam laughed hysterically and clapped his hands on his knees, trying to catch a breath.

After a few minutes of mad celebrating by hugs and a few very selectively creative words for Jamison from Beclyn, the room went silent.

The three hunters gazed at each other, red-faced from laughing, and feeling like crazy, yet happy, idiots.

"Well, that's that," Sam said simply, shrugging his shoulders. "What do we do now?"

Beclyn glanced at Dean, knowing that he still felt embarrassed.

Finally, Dean rubbed a hand through his hair and grinned. "Well, I dunno about you guys, but I got the munchies for ice-cream. Who's up for ice-cream?"

For once, there were no complaints.

- - -

The teenage boy sighed as he stabbed at his mashed potatoes. They were lumpy, disgusting, and cold. Sighing, he threw down his fork and stretched back on his chair. There were at least fifty tables around him packed with bustling, chatty demons his own age, but he didn't feel like talking about the upcoming exams like everybody else was. Could lunchtimes get anymore boring?

"Hi, Jacob," a voice behind him called.

The demon turned to see a girl with straight, brown hair smiling at him.

"Hey, Hannah," he replied, grinning as he moved his food so she could sit next to him. "What's up?"

She blushed as she mumbled, "Nothing much." Jacob knew that she was shy and was determined to break her out of her shell. It was little known to him that he was her biggest crush.

"So, how 'bout this food, huh?" he commented, poking his steak for effect. "It's really five-star gourmet, huh?"

Hannah giggled, placing her food on the table. "Really?" she said, not knowing what else to say.

"Nah," he answered. "Not really. Without salt, it tastes like crap." He let out a dramatic sigh for effect. "Humans really do get all the fun."

"What do you mean?" she asked, gazing at her food. "You've never tried salt."

He shrugged, and then grinned his most charming smile. "Guess a little birdy told me that salt makes things scrumptious."

Hannah blushed, giggling. "Does this little birdy happen to be a demon? Because if they are, they don't want to keep eating salt unless they want their insides to burn up."

Jacob flushed red slightly. "Yeah," he muttered. "Suppose they shouldn't keep eating it…"

Suddenly, a plate flew out of nowhere and crashed onto the table.

"What the…" Jacob started, but then stopped as he heard a massive giggle.

Hannah's eyebrows furrowed. "Oh no…" she started.

"Hey, guys!" a high-pitched squeal of a voice interrupted their conversation. A girl with violently purple curls slammed down into the seat on the opposite side of Jacob.

"Hey, Cleo," Jacob and Hannah answered drearily.

Cleo screwed up her face, and then asked, "Why the long faces? I have the best gossip you're _ever_ gonna hear!"

Jacob turned to Hannah and rolled his eyes. Hannah suppressed a giggle as Cleo glared at her.

"What?" Cleo snapped. "Don't you wanna hear it?"

"Oh, we do…" Jacob said slowly, trying to soften the blow. "But… Your gossip is really _unique_."

"That's what makes it special." Cleo winked and beamed at Hannah. "Ain't that right, Han?"

Hannah shuffled her feet and shrugged. "I guess…" she replied in a soft voice.

"Like, no offence, Cleo," Jacob said. "But when I say _unique_, it really means _out-there_. Like, _really_ out there. Like the time you tried to convince us that sewage rats could talk…"

"Or the time you said toilets were really a human transportation device…" Hannah included.

"Or that time when you said that aliens were really taking over humans so that they could eat demons," Jacob continued.

"Okay, okay!" Cleo threw up her arms in protest. "Alright, so maybe my sources weren't _that_ reliable those times. But this time it's serious. You won't believe what I've heard."

She leaned forward, gesturing for Jacob and Hannah to do the same. "I heard," she started, whispering to make an effect, "that the demon ruler has woken up."

Jacob and Hannah remained leaning close, waiting for more. When she didn't, they both frowned. Jacob shrugged and said, "And?"

"What do you mean '_and'_?" Cleo erupted. "That's big news!"

Jacob and Hannah leant back, not impressed.

"Okay, fine. Fine!" Cleo hissed, gesturing them closer again. "I wasn't going to tell you this until later, but I know why he's awake. It's because he's after a human girl."

Jacob burst into laughter. "Yeah, alright," he said while shaking his head. "Whatever you say."

"No, I'm serious!" Cleo protested. "An oldie told me that he went to his room for six years and never came out because of a human girl."

Hannah bit her lip, feeling embarrassed for the chirpy purple-head. She really wished that Cleo would get up and leave her and Jacob alone. Meanwhile, Jacob was still laughing.

"Come on, Cleo," he pressed. "A human girl?"

Cleo pouted grumpily. "It's true. Rumors are that she used to live in the Cave."

Jacob cupped his hand over his mouth and said, "_Bullshit_!" through a cough.

"Cleo, humans can't live in the Cave," Hannah told Cleo. "It's against the rules."

"Oh, yeah?" Cleo challenged, persistent. "What about that guy… You know… What's his name? Jahmayson, or something?"

"Jamison," Jacob corrected. "Just face it. You're completely off-track this time, Cleo."

Making a _hmph_ sound, Cleo snapped, "Well then, why would they be waking up Maria?"

"_Insane_ Maria?" Jacob asked with a grin. "I dunno. Maybe it's time to change her diaper."

"Shut up, Jacob," Cleo spat back at him. "I found out that insane Maria used to be the roommate of this particular human."

"Why would the demon ruler want a human?" Jacob questioned, throwing a wink at Hannah.

Cleo wrapped a curl around her pinky finger, her eyes flashing with mischief. "You really want to know? Well, tell me, what do you know about any prophecies?"

"Like the '_tell the future_' prophecies?" Jacob answered, leaning further back in his chair.

"Yeah," Cleo said with a smirk. "I found out that there was a prophecy foretold decades ago. And guess what?" Her eyes darkened as she leant forward. "It's about a human girl."

Hannah's eyebrows furrowed as she moved some mashed potato around on her plate. "What did this prophecy say about a human girl?"

Cleo's eyes flashed with enthusiasm. "It said that a human girl would…"

Suddenly, there was a giant roar from the steel walkway above them. Everyone in the eating hall stopped chatting as they all glanced towards the noise. A man in his mid-thirties with black hair slumped against the steel walkway's banister as he choked on several dry sobs. Everyone stared in fear as he clenched the banister in a terrible rage. He stood for a second, battling every urge of ravenous fury inside of him, before he let out a screaming roar. Along with it came a fireball as large as the room, engulfing and destroying all those who sat below. As the flames died away, the black-haired demon sobbed softly and wiped at his eyes blindly. He didn't look up as he heard his brother's footsteps approach him.

"He's dead, brother," the sobbing man cried.

The footsteps hesitated slightly, whether at the news or at the massive waste of life downstairs, the younger man didn't know.

"_She_ fucking slaughtered him," he continued, his face torn between the emotions of hate and sorrow. "_She_ killed my son!"

"Oh, please," came the reply from his elder brother finally. "You never treated him as your son, let alone acknowledged that he shared your bloodline."

"_She's_ more powerful than I expected," the younger man muttered, ignoring him. "_She'll_ have to be dealt with by other means."

"I've already ordered one of my daughters to wake up Maria."

"No," the younger man hissed, still bent over the bar. "If anything, I should see _her_ myself. See if _she's _still as powerful as _she_ used to be."

Before the elder man could respond, the younger man said, "I'll arrange another potion. Hopefully that woman will have more of it."

Without another word, he disappeared, his face set in determination. The older man watched him go. His gaze turned to the mess of blackened table and chairs. He could hardly bear the mass of bodies burnt beyond recognition.

Silently, he prayed that none of his children were going to be part of the body count.

- - -

TBC

**Just as a warning, I won't post the next chapter until I get ten reviews. I'm sorry, but I haven't received any reviews for the last two chapters. It's kind of off-putting for me and I'd hate to do this to my readers, but fair is fair. **

**So, I won't put up the next chapter until I get ten. It's as easy as that. **


	26. Chapter 26

**Well, here's the next chapter! I didn't get the 10 reviews I wanted, but... I won't update the next chapter until I get 5 reviews. Sorry, but fair's fair!**

* * *

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 26**

_Three Days Later_

Dean hummed softly as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to a song quietly playing from the car stereo. He was slightly irritated that there was a fine mist shrouding the road, making it difficult for him to speed up without Sam nagging that they were going too fast and were going to crash. Dean was used to driving fast, and especially when it was in the evening. He wouldn't have an accident. It was one of the many perfect attributes of Dean Winchester, along with having the perfect smile, perfect body, perfect aim, and perfect car. Unfortunately, his brother didn't always see eye-to-eye with those attributes. Sam was already mid-sentence of a nag as Dean went a few notches faster.

"... gonna kill us all one day. Maybe if you even looked at the road, we wouldn't hit as many wild animals," Sam flustered crankily.

"What are you talking about?" Dean replied easily. "I haven't hit a wild animal in years."

Sam made an exhausted gesture with his hand. "There's no point arguing with you. You're too egotistical."

In the back, Beclyn mumbled, "_Act like a married couple…_" under her breath.

Dean was about to shoot something back at her, but bit the inside of his lip instead. He couldn't bring himself to say anything. What if she retaliated with something worse? Could he make up a come back in time? He let it go. He was still dwelling over the kiss she had given him on the night that Jamison died. It was good and all, but he knew she probably only did it to exercise her power. Yeah, that's it. She did it to try and rub in his face that she can kiss better than him. Damn female.

"Dean?" Sam pestered him out of his thoughts.

Dean shot out of his thoughts. "What?" he snapped.

"You're mumbling to yourself."

Flushing scarlet, Dean sat up straighter in his seat and said, "Well, so I should. I'm trying to go over the route to this next gig."

"The farm?"

"_The_ farm, Sam. It's _the_ farm. Do you know how much this farmer-guy is giving to anyone who can get rid of this spirit in his barn house? Think _five_ digits, Sam. That's more than what a farmer gets in a friggin' year."

"And we have to do it, because…?" Sam pressed, obviously not in the mood.

Dean flustered, finding his brother impossible sometimes. "You know what, Sam? Just don't talk to me. Alright? Don't talk to me."

"Can't we find somewhere to stop?" Sam ignored his statement. "Some people have to _sleep_, Dean."

"You're just a…" Dean started, but then stopped as he glanced in the rearview mirror into the backseat. Beclyn's head was resting heavily on the window and her eyes were slowly drooping. She was obviously tired.

"Yeah…" Dean muttered. "We'll stop at the next town."

- - -

The Impala slowly pulled into the parking lot of the park. Several dog-walkers were jogging in the comfortable temperature of the late afternoon. No one noticed as the three hunters dragged themselves from the car, their buttocks and thighs stiff from the long journey of sitting.

The park was really quite spacious and beautiful. Unlike the traditional American parks consisting of a swing-set and sometimes a sandbox, this park had a large water-fountain, a bronze statue dedicated to a long-dead explorer who founded the town, several walking paths, and a gorgeous round lake. However, it was the lake which assaulted the perfect natural beauty of the site. Bright yellow police tape was scattered and torn on the ground surrounding the lake. As Beclyn and Dean stayed by the car, Sam frowned and stepped closer to the water. There was barely any evidence of a crime except for the tape. There was no blood, or chalk-outlines like usual police investigations.

Sighing, Sam turned and jogged back to the car. He shoved his hands into his jacket, already feeling the bitter cold of approaching night.

"Where'd you go?" Dean asked his younger brother bluntly.

"I was checking out the police tape at the lake," Sam answered honestly, gesturing to the lake with his elbow.

"And…?" Dean persisted.

"_And_ nothing," Sam said. "It's just a crime-scene, probably from long-ago. I wonder why the locals haven't cleaned up the tape yet."

Beclyn shrugged then shivered as a large gust of freezing wind gushed under her jumper. "Come on, guys. Let's find a hotel," she ordered.

Dean turned, looking straight at her as if he were seriously judging whether or not he could get away with wrapping her in a warm, tight hug. Sam's eyebrow raised a mile.

With her face void of all emotion, she coldly asked, "What's your problem?"

Suddenly realizing that his brother could be incredibly awkward at times, Sam smiled and said, "Hey, a hotel sounds _great_."

- - -

The kitchen of the hotel was mainly silent, apart from Sam unwrapping his dinner and the soft buzzing from the television as Beclyn lazed around on the couch, munching on some chocolate she found in Dean's bag two days before. She didn't know how she lived for so long without the tiny, colourful pebbles. She turned the packaging over in her hands.

"_M-and-Ms_," she read the packet slowly under her breath as if she were a child reading a new picture book.

_Weird name for chocolate, _she thought as she dipped her hand back into the packet to grab more._ Oh, well. Tastes good._

Meanwhile, Dean was digging into his bag furiously. He muttered foul words and cursed as he rummaged through the assorted clothes. He knew he had bought a new packet of his favourite chocolate less than a week ago. He just _knew _it. He even had the damn receipt to prove it. So why wasn't it in his bag where he had shoved it? Surely he couldn't have eaten them all. He liked to save his chocolate – mature it, really, as if it were a fine specimen of cheese. Finally, he stood up and hissed, "You _asshole_, Sam!"

Stomping out of the bedroom angrily, he confronted his brother in the kitchen. Sam was poking his fatty take-out burger with a fork.

"Sam, why'd you take it?" Dean accused him. He didn't mean to make his voice sound so harsh, but it was _his_ chocolate.

"What's your problem?" Sam asked, automatically defensive as he dropped his fork.

"You!" Dean snapped. "You took my chocolate, you thief!"

"What?" Sam laughed. "Why would I want your chocolate?" When Dean's expression didn't change, Sam protested, "Dude, I swear I didn't take it. You're accusing me for no reason."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean snorted. "It's _my _chocolate, Sam. _Mine_."

Beclyn's head peeked over the stuffy couch towards the argument in the kitchen. Quietly, she stuffed the chocolate behind her back, and then turned back to the TV.

"There's no getting through to you, is there?" Sam sighed, picking up his fork once again. "You always come after me as if I've done something wrong."

Silence filled the kitchen before a set of footsteps left the room. Beclyn wrinkled her nose then dragged the chocolate out from behind her. She plopped another piece of crispy chocolate into her mouth. She was sucking on the sweet, candy-like shell when suddenly, a hand tore out of nowhere and ripped the package from her hands.

"What the f…" she cried out.

"_You_ were the one who took my chocolate!" Dean yelled.

Sam came running back into the kitchen from grabbing a washcloth to wipe the table down with. He stared at the fight ready to take place. He could just hear it now – the screaming match between Beclyn and Dean, the knives whizzing past, the perhaps eventual gunshots followed the police turning up on the doorstep with claims of domestic abuse…

Silence filled the room once more. Beclyn stared at Dean as Dean stared back.

"Here, you can have 'em," Dean mumbled, suddenly tossing the chocolate back to Beclyn. "I'll buy another one tomorrow."

Sam's face morphed to bewilderment as Dean shoved past him to the bedroom. Turning to Beclyn, Sam made a questioning face, prompting her to explain what had just happened. With a shrug as her answer, Beclyn swiveled back to watch the rest of her show.

Sam tried to get a clasp on what happened.

_Those two have seriously got to talk,_ he told himself finally.

- - -

_11pm, Park_

The leaves stirred slightly in the cold breeze as Thompson jogged at a steady pace. He slowly made his way through all the park walking-tracks, ignoring the sweat which trickled down his legs and through his jogging suit. His short, messy brown hair was plastered to his damp forehead as he huffed along beside the lake. He had been jogging for two hours now, preparing himself mentally and physically for the upcoming state carnival. He had won every year since he was seventeen, and now that he had held that trophy for five years running, he was not going to let it go. The doctor had told him that he should only exert himself for less than an hour a day, but Thompson knew that he wouldn't be able to get his mind in the game unless he trained for at least two hours a night.

The cold night air didn't bother him. He liked jogging by the lake. He loved how the moonlight hit the water and illuminated his body as if he was a gliding angel. Besides, it beat being at home with his moronic girlfriend. He hated the way her eyes filled with tears and those raspy little sobs that annoyed him so much. God, it was her fault he slept with that other chick. _Whats-her-name_ from the last state carnival. Now, _she _was hot, and so much more willing to put out than his girlfriend. All he had to do was click his fingers and she'd be on her knees, willing to take whatever fun he liked to have. But with his girlfriend? One slap and she's a sniveling, blubbering mess. If he could have his way, he'd grab a baseball bat and—

Thompson jogged on the spot for a second. He swore he could hear something. There was a rustling in the bushes on the other side of the lake. He paused, waiting. His breath came out in short, white foggy mists of steam. Every muscle in his body twitched. Suddenly, a squirrel darted from the bushes and up a tree. Thompson almost burst into laughter at his own stupidity.

_Now there's the most cliché horror scene for ya, _he thought.

He sneered then made his way to the water's edge. Dipping his hands past the surface, he scooped up the cold liquid and splashed it over his face. He scrubbed his nose and cheeks before staring back at the water, waiting for the ripples to disperse. Finally, his handsome reflection shone in the water like a glass mirror. He smirked at himself. His dimples curved into soft, cute moulds, his brilliantly white teeth gave his face new life, and his pale blue eyes made him look like an innocent boy. He was gorgeous and he knew it. All of a sudden, his reflection changed. For some reason, it wasn't smiling like he knew he was.

Thompson's grin fell. "What the hell?" he asked his reflection.

Abruptly, two spidery-thin white hands shot through the surface and grabbed him on either side of his temples. The long, torn fingernails scratched at the side of his head, tearing at his flesh.

Throughout the small town that night all anyone could hear was Thompson Grey's screams.

- - -

_Next morning_

Beclyn, Dean, and Sam were on the scene minutes after the police. The silvery morning light did nothing to encourage the mood into something more peaceful as the red and blue signals shone from the police cars. The police bustled about, shielding the scene from on-lookers as more neighbours arrived to survey the action. Beclyn and Dean waited on the out-skirts of the crowd as Sam disappeared to question the officers. Dean rubbed his hands together, irritated as he mumbled, "I bet Sam will want to stay now. I wanted to be at the farm by nightfall."

"I dunno," Beclyn remarked plainly. "Dead body, no witnesses, quiet town. You do the math."

A young, blonde girl was sobbing inside of the newly-placed police tape. A patient female police officer was trying to ask her questions but the girl kept erupting into painfully mournful cries.

"Guess we found the next of kin," Dean commented.

An elderly lady with a cream-coloured shawl whispered to a younger woman a few feet in front of them.

"Can you believe it?" the elder lady asked the younger. "This is the third one in a month."

Dean leapt on the chance to pry information while Beclyn waited. "Excuse me," Dean greeted, his most charming smile spread across his features. "I couldn't help but hearing… Has an accident like this one happened before."

The woman turned, the elderly lady shying away.

"Yeah," the younger woman answered. Her short brown hair was tucked behind her ears. "This is the third incident we've had. It's terrible to know that our lake isn't safe anymore."

"What do you mean," Dean questioned, trying to play innocent.

"Well…" the woman hesitated. "We used to be able to walk around at all hours of the night without being in any danger, but now with all these accidents… It's just so hard to find the killer, you see…"

"You mean that…" Dean started but saw his brother jogging back over. "Thanks," he said, and returned to Beclyn.

Sam was already explaining what he had discovered. "The police have not a clue what happened. They said that he was found next to the lake with no blood whatsoever in his body."

"A vampire?" Beclyn suggested, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Maybe," Sam said, "but even vampire leave some traces behind. This had nothing. And besides, heaps of the neighbours say that they heard screaming but they didn't see anyone leave the scene. I saw the body for a split-second when they were bagging it. This guy was freaked by something."

"Great," Dean huffed. "What are we meant to do? With all these police around, we can't just EMF the scene, and they've bagged all the evidence."

"Not quite," Sam said with a cheeky grin. He pulled a video tape from under his jacket. "Apparently this kind of thing has happened before. They set up security cameras around the lake to make everyone feel safer… And, well… I took it before the police could check it."

A massive smirk appeared on Dean's face. "You know," he smirked, giving Sam a light punch on the shoulder. "You're not so bad at being a little brother after all."

- - -

"Okay, here we go," Sam said, fast forwarding the tape. The motel television screen buzzed and flickered black and white. "Now." Sam played the tape. "This is the estimated time of death. If the police were right, then he should be…"

Suddenly, a jogger appeared on screen. He stopped, looked into the distance for a moment, then leant down by the lake. Something abruptly grabbed him, but the jogger managed to claw away. He tried scrambling, but his legs didn't seem to work.

"What he afraid of?" Beclyn asked herself more than the other two audience members.

"There's something in the lake," Sam pointed out. Just as he said it, a ghostly figure with silvery-white hair broke through the water's surface and floated towards the jogger. Abruptly, the tape cut out.

"Oh, I see," Dean commented. "It's just your run-of-the-mill guy gets attacked while jogging by an unknown creature gig."

Sam rewound the tape to the moment that the ghost-figure emerged from the lake. He paused it so that the thing's eyes were caught on camera. Beclyn wished that Sam hadn't stopped in at that moment. There was something deeply unsettling about the creature's glowing eyes, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Any ideas as to what it is?" Sam asked.

Beclyn shook her head while Dean scratched his nose.

"Okay," Dean said simply. "Looks like we're gonna have to do a bit of police-work. You guys take the history of the lake, I'll take the interrogation of the hot blonde chick."

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**Remember that I won't update until I get 5 reviews! I love any comments!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Happy 110 reviews, everyone! Oh, and happy 10 000 hits! I was meant to say that two chapters ago, but didn't have the time or memory. I just checked my emails and saw all the wonderful reviews! My God, you guys are frigging awesome! You have completely made my day. I'm going to reply to all the ones I can, I swear! And to think, the next chapter will only cost everyone 7 reviews :P ! **

**Warning: This chapter is very strong upper T. Sexual references, swearing, animal abuse, drug use, adult themes. **

**Disclaimer: Dean and Sammy belong to Kripke. Those script writers deserve to be attacked by several thousand fangirls for what they did to Dean in the season finale. LONG LIVE DEAN!!**

**Hehem… I don't own the show, but I do own Beclyn and everything else you don't recognize.**

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 27**

* * *

It was past midday before Sam and Beclyn had a chance to take a break. The musty, old library books sat discarded next to the open laptop as they sat and ate instant noodles silently.. Dean wandered in around two o'clock.

"Well, that was the biggest waste of time," he complained, taking off his jacket and hanging it over the couch which Beclyn was lying on.

"I guess that means that your hot, blonde chick wasn't that much of a help," Beclyn commented.

Dean sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. "That's putting it nicely. She mostly spent her time crying and showing me all the trophies he had won. Turns out this guy is a real sports-star. He has a whole wall in the study donated to his trophies. A whole wall!"

"So you didn't get any information?" Sam pried.

"Well," Dean started. He drew something out of his jacket pocket and tossed it to Sam. "I managed to sneak his diary-scheduler out. I can't believe that I spent that long over there and I didn't even get a date!"

"She's just lost her boyfriend, Dean," Sam said firmly, flicking through the black notebook.

"Yeah, well," Dean flustered. "What about you guys? Find anything worth knowing about?"

"Nup. Nothing at all," Sam answered.

"There's nothing on the history of the town, or the lake, or the people. There's been no murders, no violent deaths, no strange weather problems… I guess you could say it's completely clean," Beclyn stated.

"Brilliant," Dean huffed, and then fell down on the couch, pushing Beclyn aside.

Beclyn glowered at him.

"His schedule for last week is pretty packed," Sam remarked, still looking at the book. "He spent more time training than he did doing anything else. It doesn't even seem like he had a job."

"Girlfriend said he got the money from his winnings," Dean added.

Sam flicked back a couple of pages. "No, I mean, he seems like a completely structured guy. He has exact plans of his week and he writes down everything."

"So?" Dean said, placing a lounge pillow behind his back.

"Everything's structured for weeks, and… Look. There's an appointment he had with a _'Sissy Glater'._"

"Think she has anything to do with it?" Beclyn asked.

"Well," Dean said, standing. "There's only one way to find out. Who's up for a bit of police roleplay?"

- - -

Dean rapped his knuckles on the wooden front door and stood back, waiting for an answer. There was a shuffling noise inside, and swearing as something ceramic and heavy fell to the floor. Dean raised an eyebrow, but quickly calmed his expression as the door swung open to reveal a _very_ unkempt girl with clothes that were more suited to a gothic prostitute. A cloud of acidic bong smoke floated out of the door.

"_Yes_?" she spat at them, her fingernails digging into the wood of the door. Beclyn noticed that they were painted black.

"Ah… Hi. Are you Sissy Glater?" Sam began with a nervous smile. He received a suspicious frown from the girl for a reply. "I'm Officer Fredrick, and these are my partners Officer Drake and Officer Shannon." He gestured to Dean and Beclyn. "Is it okay if we ask you some questions?"

Sissy crossed her arms, glaring at the three of them. "I thought '_partner'_ usually only refers to having one person as, you know, your partner."

Sam's smile faltered slightly. "Well, you see, Constable Shannon is just doing the rounds here today with me and my partner," he explained with a nod to Beclyn.

The girl rolled her eyes and muttered, "Whatever." She opened the door wider to let them in. Stepping through the door, the first thing that Sam noticed was the erotic statues placed around the front entrance. As he walked past a statue of two young women having oral sex, he couldn't help but think he had somehow walked into a warped version of the playboy mansion. He turned his head to see that Dean and Beclyn were looking just as perplexed as he was.

"So, what, like, department are you with again?" Sissy asked from the living room.

"Uh… State police, Ma'am," Dean answered her in his deepest voice.

"Oh, good," the girl said bluntly. "I thought you were those fucking animal care people."

Dean threw a questioning glance at Sam. Sam shrugged, confused. Entering the living room, Sam felt that he had been thrown into another dimension. The room was painted black with matching black furniture. There was barely a speck of colour in the room apart from the black and white photos which were plastered onto the wall. As Sam approached the middle of the room, he realized that the photos ranged from strangely erotic to just plain demented. Sissy sat down on a black leather couch and gestured for them to sit on the matching one opposite her. The three sat as told, feeling squished on the two-seater couch.

"So… Uh…" Sam started. "You're into photography?"

He glanced over the walls and a photo over two metres long caught his attention. The photo was like a still track of a movie with different pictures. A naked man stood in the first window, his manhood standing proud as he inserted a syringe into his arm. The next window had him with a sharp Stanley knife held at the base of his genitals. Sam didn't want to see the next window so he turned back to the girl.

"I take pictures for a bit of money," she explained in a hurry as if he was taking up her time.

"Very strange pictures," Dean commented. He was busy looking at one of the more erotic photos of two naked girls touching each other.

"Yeah, well," she huffed. "I have strange clients." The girl shifted uncomfortably under Beclyn's stare.

Another picture caught Sam's eye. It bothered him, although he didn't know why. Unlike the first picture he saw, this one was just a photo with a woman on the bed and a man standing in front with something on a white table. The woman seemed to be asleep, while the man was captured pawing at the thing on the table. Sam squinted slightly, trying to make the object clearer. Suddenly, his head snapped away and his eyes widened. The thing on the white table was a foetus. It probably belonged to the girl passed out on the bed. For a second he wondered if the girl had actually wanted her – what looked to be – twelve-week old foetus to be aborted. It made him sick to his stomach.

He decided to get quickly to the point so that he could leave. "Do you happen to know a Thompson Grey?"

The girl scoffed in a nasally, hurking way. "Yeah, and so did the rest of the town," she sneered. "He was like the town hero. Win a few medals and everyone thinks you're a Goddamn martyr."

"But did you actually know him?" Dean pressed, his eyes drifting to a picture of a girl licking a man's erection.

The girl shrugged heavily. "Yeah. I knew him. He was one of my clients."

"Clients?" Beclyn asked, pressing her to explain.

Giving another shrug, Sissy elaborated. "He comes in from time to time. He wants me to take pictures of him and girls. You know, the usual."

"You don't seem so enthusiastic about it. Was he into things a little more… different than you're used to?" Dean pressured.

She laughed with a snort. "You mean, like, was he into perverted stuff and things like that?"

Beclyn stared. "You tell us."

"Well, I don't know if you'd call it _perverted_. I'd call it some really kinky shit."

They sat, waiting for her to continue.

"He came in here once with a young floozy. She was completely off her face – drunk. I know straight away that it's not his girlfriend 'cause his girlfriend is the mayor's daughter and shit. So I asked him what he wanted to do. He said that he wanted to try out some of the really kinky stuff."

The girl stood up and disappeared behind a black curtain leading to a room near the back of the house. She came back carrying something that looked like a spiked dildo. She tossed it to Sam. He cringed as the spikes stabbed him slightly.

"Dun' worry," she told him. "I washed it."

She sat back down, her fingers fiddling with a hole in the couch.

"So we take her into this room with the bed and chains. He tells me to tie her up, so I do. He says to me to get the camera ready, so I do. I dunno what he was gonna do at first. I mean, the girl's gigglin' off her brains and keeps asking to be screwed. So what does he do? He gets this thing and shoves it straight into her – "

"So you're saying that he raped her?" Sam interrupted, not wanting to know anymore than what he had heard. He glanced at Beclyn for a second and realized that she was looking very pale and sick.

"I dunno if you'd call it rape," Sissy sighed. "I mean, the chick was asking for it until she was bleedin' everywhere. I had to ask the guy to stop 'cause I thought it was gonna get over the camera. But you shoulda seen the look in his eyes. He was more than enjoyin' it, I can tell ya that."

Sam swallowed nauseously. "How often does he come in?"

Sissy stood and disappeared behind the black curtain again before returning with several small photographs.

"These are examples I give to my clients to show them my work. These ones I keep well hidden." She passed them to Sam. Sam's stomach instantly knotted as he flipped through the grizzly photographs. They all had Thompson Grey. He was about to pass them to Beclyn, but hesitated. She took them before he could snatch them back, but luckily passed them on to Dean without even a glance at them.

"That's not even the half of it," Sissy stated, not interested. A soft mewling from the floor caught everyone's attention. An undernourished, scabby black cat sat below them, looking as startled as they did.

"Get out of here, ya little shit!" the girl hissed, kicking the cat harshly.

The cat cried in pain and darted behind the black curtain. Dean glared at the girl nastily.

"What?" she demanded, then rolled her eyes. "The stupid little shit belonged to my ex. I'm trying to starve it to death, but the shit keeps eating the cockroaches and mice around the house." She flipped a cigarette from a carton on the couch and lit the tip. She blew out a long stream of smoke from her nose, her eyes rolling upwards as if she was experiencing a form of ecstasy.

"Are we done?" she finally snapped at the three sitting in front of her.

"Yeah," Sam answered quickly. "Thanks for your time."

"Good," the Sissy sighed, annoyed, "and don't send any more pigs around here. Drives off my clients, you know."

The three left quickly, not wanting to look at anymore of the disturbing pictures or take continuous abuse from the girl. They stood by the car for a second, feeling overwhelmed. Finally, Dean flicked out his cell phone.

"Who are you calling?" Sam asked, leaning against the door.

"Animal control," Dean answered. "I hope they fine that bitch with animal abuse charges that she can never afford to work off."

- - -

The television screen whirred black and white for the hundredth time as Sam rewound the surveillance tape. He paused the scene each time, trying to pick up something he'd missed. Beclyn had watched the tape with him for several hours and was feeling as tired as a grandma on sedatives.

"I'm going to bed," she said finally, getting up.

"Hang on," Dean called, standing up from the kitchen table.

She began to walk to the bedroom, but stopped in the doorway as Dean tried to follow.

"Is this really necessary?" Beclyn sighed. She wasn't snappy for once. "I've promised that I won't try and run away."

Dean bit the inside of his lip, his face growing scarlet. "It's not about you trying to run away," he pointed out. "There's something dangerous out there which has killed three people already. I just don't think it's safe, that's all."

"Oh, really? What about Sam? Why does he get to sleep on the couch by himself?"

"Sam's a big boy. He can handle himself."

Letting out a sigh of mixed exhaustion and frustration, Beclyn allowed Dean into the bedroom. "Night, Sam," she called to the couch.

"Night," Sam answered. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

- - -

"_Auntie Karla!" a very young girl screamed as she ran through the thick, dark woods. Tears fell from her pale cheeks, her sobs crying out through the night. She pressed on through the woods, pumping her five-year old legs as fast as they could go. Her black hair tangled in twigs and leaves, ripp__ing at her scalp. "Auntie Karla!" she cried. "AUNTIE KARLA!"_

_Suddenly, the little girl could see her house. She scampered out of the forest and bolted up to the back door, slamming her fists against the wood. Within seconds, the door flung open, the kitchen's yellow light blinding the girl. _

"_Oh, my God," there was a cry from inside. _

_The girl was yanked inside as a thin hand grabbed her arm tightly. Heaving heavy sobs, the girl cried, "I didn't mean to do it. We were right there and then she… then she…" She let gasped for air, but only managed to make wheezing noises through her tears. _

"_Where is…? Oh, God… Bradley! Come here!" the woman that had grabbed her screamed._

_There were thudding footsteps across the wooden floor, and then, "Jesus Christ… What the hell happened, Karla?" _

"_I don't know," the woman said, frightened. "She just came running in here…"_

_A man in his thirties bent down in front of the girl, examining her with harsh eyes. _

"_Oh, my God!" the woman suddenly shrieked. She fell to her knees and gripped the girl's white dress in clenched fists. "What is this on your dress? What is this? Is this blood?" _

"_I didn't mean to!" the young girl defended herself. She stood still, sobbing, choking for breath. "I didn't mean to…" she whimpered._

"_Do what?" the man spat. "What did you do, you stupid girl?"_

"_Bradley, please…" the woman begged helplessly. She took hold of the girl's hands and said firmly, "Please, honey. What did you do?" _

_The girl looked down at her feet, and then scrunched her eyes tightly shut. "My sister…" she whimpered. _

_Both of the adults stared at her, their leering, vicious eyes gazing straight through her._

"_I…" the girl said softly. She looked up at the woman and began screaming, "I killed her!"_

_The woman's jaw dropped slightly. "What are you saying…?_

_The little girl's eyes filled with shining tears. She bit her lip, trying not to cry any harder. _

"_I killed her. I killed my sister."_

- - -

Beclyn bolted upright in bed, flinging Dean's arm from around her waist. She didn't even have a moment to question why he was in her bed before the pain emerged. "Oh, my God…" she gasped, but then groaned in agony as her head pounded heavily. The world tilted unnaturally as Beclyn fell off the bed. The insides of her stomach churned like bicarbonate soda mixed with vinegar. She didn't even feel Dean's hand on her shoulder, trying to steady her.

"…_sister_…" Beclyn heaved, trying to steady herself.

A grey-white cloud appeared in her mind, covering her thoughts and panic. She cried out once, and then waited a minute as the cloud dispersed, leaving her with a feeling of dread.

"Beclyn, are you okay?" Dean asked, fear mixed with his voice.

After a while, Beclyn replied, "I'm fine."

"Beclyn," she heard Sam's voice. She felt two cold hands press against her cheeks and face her eyes to the youngest brother's face. "What did you see, Beclyn? What did you just see?"

"I saw…" she began, trying to suppress another groan. "I saw a girl running away – no – _to _something. She was running to her house. She killed…"

Sam helped her up off the ground, steadying her woozy steps.

"She said that she killed her sister. She said that she killed her…"

Sitting down, Sam pressed, "What do you remember? What was the scenery like? Did you see any road signs or shops?"

"Trees," Beclyn answered numbly. "There were trees."

"Sam, what are you doing?" Dean tried to shove his younger brother away.

"Dean, go start the car," Sam ordered.

Dean blinked, surprised. "What?"

"Go start the car. I think Beclyn just had a premonition."

TBC…

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**Now to toss everyone into hellish suspicion. The next chapter is good. And completed. I just need those 7 reviews and it's yours. **


	28. Chapter 28

**I was reading some other people's fanfics today and I began looking at their reviews. I was shocked because some of them were so harsh. I mean, if I had received some reviews like that I would have cried. Supernatural ****fanfic reviewers are so sweet, huh? It makes me love you guys even more!**

**Thanks for the great reviews. It really keeps me going. I'm asking for 8 reviews before I post the next chapter. It's still sad to think that most people aren't reviewing. I really need your support so please, please, please review (puppy dog eyes). **

**Warning: adult themes, violence, swearing.**

* * *

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 28**

"Would anybody seriously like to fill me in here?" Dean demanded from the driver's seat of the Impala.

They had been driving for two hours, trying to piece together Beclyn's premonition quickly so that they had a chance at saving a girl's life. So far, from what Beclyn had seen, they were headed up to the Canadian border. Sam had managed to form some idea as to where they were headed by the type of trees, style of house, and the interior of the kitchen from her premonition. It had only taken him an hour on his laptop to make a thorough map. Unfortunately, Dean wasn't so comfortable about the idea.

"We could be at that farm right now. We could be warm, with a free meal, and a place to stay, along with a very thick pay-check which would have allowed us to actually afford a _real_ motel, but _no. _We had to give up the farm gig for a gig in a small town where people were being murdered, to only give up that gig for something that we know next to nothing about! And now, to top it off, we're heading out into the middle of nowhere," he whined under his breath.

"Dean," Sam said in a calm voice, "Beclyn expressed a lot of concern about this. I think it may be worth checking out."

Dean glanced into the backseat. Beclyn wore an incredibly concerned look on her face. She had chewed her nails to flesh. Dean's eyes softened.

"Fine," he said simply. "We'll go and check it out. But I'm warning you, Sam. It's always friggin' cold in Canada, let alone in autumn."

Sam smiled, relieved that his brother had decided to go along with the gig, though he knew that Beclyn had greatly influenced that decision. Still, he always had known that there was something between them.

"The town's just below the border, so we don't have to cross into Canada," Sam pointed out.

Dean grunted in reply.

"Oh, and just to let you know, suck it up, Dean," he added quickly.

- - -

_Small_ was a word that Dean used for towns which had a few houses and a convenience store to its name. This town was _tiny_. The convenience store wasn't convenient in his opinion – it was more like a pit stop for anyone who needed to stock up on their tinned baked beans rations. From what he had seen, there were less than ten houses in the neighbourhood, but then, the thick woods within the town blocked off any view of the locals.

Dean stopped at the next house they saw. He gazed up at the looming wooden house as if it were a haunted castle. This _had_ to be the right house. They had checked out six homes already. They were just lucky that all of them had been deserted for some reason. This house looked to be the same – deserted.

"Well, you guys know what to do," Dean told his passengers. "Go see if it matches the one in your premonition, Beclyn."

Beclyn had already climbed out of the car before he could finish. Sam scrambled out after her, feeling the early-morning frost crunch under his feet as he crossed the grass. It _definitely_ felt too cold to be autumn. Sam sucked in a breath as Beclyn went straight round to the side of the house.

_So much for checking to see if people live here._

"Beclyn?" he called. "Beclyn!"

He ran up a few stony steps before almost colliding with her. She was staring straight into a forest of overgrown evergreens and dead shrubs. She glanced from the woods, to what seemed like a traditional wooden backdoor to the house. Reaching out, she ran her hands over the doorway, trying to feel for something.

"Recognize anything?" Sam inquired.

Beclyn frowned. "I'm not…" she started, but then turned back to the woods. "No. I'm pretty sure this is the place. Except… The woods weren't so overgrown and the paint on the house was new."

"It could just be the wrong house."

Beclyn swivelled and began making her way to the front door.

"Are you sure that we should just…" Sam began, but stopped as Beclyn knocked heavily on the door.

Dean climbed out of the car and stood by the letterbox. After waiting a few moments with no answer, Beclyn knocked again.

"Hello?" Sam called to anyone, hoping that someone in the house would answer.

They waited, needing to know if anybody was home.

"What are you kids doing over there?" a sharp voice suddenly startled them. A man in his late sixties was standing on the other side of the street, holding a garbage can.

"I'm sorry," Sam flustered. "We're trying to find the people who live here."

The man frowned. "You're not going to find anyone, kid. No one's lived there for about fifteen to twenty years now." He fidgeted with the bin for a second, and then began to walk away.

"Guess we're at the wrong house…" Dean mumbled, but was interrupted by Beclyn.

"Sir," she called to the old man in a snappy voice. The old man stopped and turned back to look at her, surprised. "Did a family used to live here?" she asked in a more calm voice, her breath escaping in clouds of steam. "Maybe a little girl with black hair?"

"I take it that you're not trouble-makers, then," he said as if reassuring himself.

"No, sir," Dean replied, flashing a grin. "We're college students, investigating some of the families which live around the area."

"Well…" the man hesitated, running a hand through his white hair. "In that case, you're talking to the right person."

- - -

Beclyn stepped into the entrance way, rubbing her freezing hands together to try to spread some warmth. Dean followed after her, relieved to feel the blast of central heating.

God bless new age technology.

"Come on in, come on in," the man invited with a wide smile. "My wife's at home. She's probably out sorting her photographs. Feel free to use the coat racks."

Stepping in through the door, the first thing that Sam saw was a large oval mirror sitting above a side table in the entrance way.

"Beautiful mirror," he commented.

"They say that putting a mirror opposite an entryway keeps out unwanted visitors like lost, wandering spirits," the old man stated with a cheeky grin.

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "They also say that if a person dies, their spirit is trapped in any mirror close by. It's why, back in the olden days, people would cover their mirrors when a loved-one died, so that their spirit could pass over to the other side without being trapped."

Dean threw the most vicious glare he could muster at his younger brother. Having a walking encyclopaedia for a brother could be so humiliating sometimes. The old man chuckled and said, "So true, son. So true."

They stepped into a very cosy kitchen. There was only enough room for a dining table, a few chairs, and an old-fashioned kitchen area.

"Take a seat," the old man said. He took off a heavy jacket and placed it over the back of a chair before sitting in it. "I'll just get my wife to make us some tea."

True to his word, he called, "Madge. Madge! Come out here, will ya?"

There was a sound of scurrying in the next room before a woman around the same elderly age with grey hair entered from another room. "I was just cleaning up the lounge, George," she explained, but then stopped when she saw that they had company. Instantly, her face broke into a wide smile as she said, "Well, you could have told me we were having visitors. I would have given this place a great clean."

Dean wondered how the spotless kitchen could become any cleaner.

"These kids were over checking out the Smithfield home," George told her. "They're doing something for a project."

"Oh, the Smithfield home," Madge said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She grabbed five ceramic mugs from a cupboard and placed them on the table. "My George used to work there years ago. He was the gardener, you see." She reached over behind Sam and pulled back a coffee tin of something that smelt awfully sweet.

"Hot chocolate, dears?" she asked the bewildered guests.

"Sure," Dean said, feeling weird in such a warm, loving environment.

Both Beclyn and Sam rejected the offer politely.

"Everybody wanted to be the gardener for the Smithfield property," Madge continued in a light sing-song voice. "I was so proud when George got it. It was a pity that Karla couldn't garden anymore..."

"Sorry?" Beclyn interrupted her, jumping at the familiar name.

"Karla. Oh, you probably wouldn't know. Karla was a brilliant gardener. Had a real green thumb for growing any flower you could imagine. But, I didn't expect her to keep up her hobby, not with being pregnant with Sarah and all…"

"Sarah?" Beclyn pressed, feeling lost already.

"Her daughter. Sarah was really the pride and joy of her mother and father. Karla kept showing her off to the neighbours when Bradley was at work. Bradley was a very hard-working man. He worked in this huge business. He must've been the richest man in town and he had the perfect family to go with it." Madge chuckled slightly, not noticing that she was prattling on. She flipped a few tablespoons of the sickly-sweet smelling powder into one of the mugs and poured some hot water into it.

"Sugar for your hot chocolate, dear?" she asked Dean.

Dean grinned and said, "Yeah, heaps, if you don't mind."

Madge smiled to herself as she heaped the tablespoons of white sugar into the mug. Beclyn wondered if the woman was paying attention to the hot drink as she continued, "Sarah was a bright young child. She looked _just_ like her mother. Even at the age of four she had enough friends to host her own dinner party. She was in the church choir, too. My, did she have a voice. The whole family was religious and I loved catching up with Karla every Sunday. I would bring the girls cookies and cupcakes while George was working in the garden. It would give Karla some time to herself for shopping. The girls were really no hassle at all!"

"Wait," Beclyn stopped her. She frowned and then said, "_Girls_? Mrs. Smithfield had two daughters?"

For the first time since entering the house, a cold, uneasy feeling settled in the room. Madge coughed uncomfortably before saying, "Well, technically no. She didn't. Sarah was her only daughter, but for some reason another girl began living with the Smithfields when she was very young."

Sam leaned forward, sensing the barrier the elderly couple were trying to create. "Why did she come to live with them?"

Madge frowned as if trying to remember something. "I'm not sure. Karla and Bradley never really said. I can't really remember much about the dear except that she was…" She turned away for a second. "… _Strange_…"

"Strange?" Beclyn pursued.

"Well, I know it sounds terrible, but there was always something _different_ about her. She wasn't like other children. Of all the times I babysat the girls, I never saw her laugh or cry. She was always just… _there_, watching me with those eyes. Don't get me wrong, she was the cutest little button I had ever seen, but…" Madge bit her lip then sighed. "She may have been strange, but you couldn't tell Sarah that. Even though it was obvious that the girl was adopted, they kept calling themselves sisters. The only time I ever saw her exhibit any amount of emotion was when she was with Sarah. It's _unnatural_ for a child to be like that." She stirred the contents of the mug and passed it across the table to Dean. Dean thanked her for it and took a sip, only to feel his mouth pucker up at the sheer sweetness of the liquid.

"Did this girl have a name?" Beclyn asked Madge.

Madge's eyebrows furrowed as she turned to George. George shook his head as if answering an unasked question.

"I couldn't remember her name now, dear," Madge replied with a sigh. "It's been so long. My memory's just not the same… Actually, I may have a picture of her. I used to take pictures of the family for church photographs. I'm sure it's out the back somewhere."

"I'm sorry," Sam intervened, "but before you continue, was there an accident concerning the girls?"

Both George and Madge's lips pursed until they were pale. "Yes," George finally answered.

"George," Madge warned in a sharp tone.

"No, Madge, it's what they're here for," George told her.

Madge's lips quivered. "Fine," she said in a small voice. She turned to Sam and weakly smiled. "I'll try and find that photograph for you."

When Madge was thoroughly out of earshot, George gazed down at the table top and began to explain. "All I really remember about the accident was that it was such a shock. Madge and I were with Karla most of the night, helping her through it all. The police asked so many questions…"

Dean thanked his intuition for telling him not to wear the police get-up today.

"Sarah and her 'sister' had been playing in this old construction site a little while away from the home. Karla was always reprimanding them about it. The construction had been dormant for years – the contractors went broke and didn't have the money to demolish it. There was bound to be some unsafe things lying around. Madge and I signed a petition after the accident to have it completely taken apart and removed from our community – that is, of course, after the police had finished surveying it. Anyways, one night the little girl came running home crying that her sister had died…"

Beclyn paled and felt light beads of perspiration line her forehead.

"… She had blood all down her clothes and in her hair. Karla and Bradley called the police straight away, and well… The police found Sarah's body at the construction site. She must've been playing when one of the poles came loose. It managed to hit her square in the forehead. The police were cleaning up the blood and remains for hours. The police said that the little girl must have seen the whole thing… But she was too young to realize when a person dies it means that they're not coming back. She was calling to her sister for months after that. Talking to herself, playing games with poor dead Sarah. It eventually drove Karla to insanity, and… Karla was lying on the kitchen table one evening when Bradley came home from work. She had slashed her wrists from here to kingdom come, but do you want to know the weird thing?"

Beclyn, Dean and Sam leaned closer.

"There wasn't any blood," George said. "Bradley was devastated to lose his wife so shortly after his daughter that he must have committed suicide as well. But, just like his wife, there wasn't any blood at the scene. The whole town thought the entire thing was suspicious. A whole family dead, yet the little girl walked out alive. I heard she went into foster care."

For a second, George looked like he should say something, but didn't. Instead, he stood and smiled warmly at his audience. "I'm sorry, but I think it's time for Madge and me to have our mid-morning nap."

They stood without a word and made their way to the front yard. Sam thanked George for his hospitality and went to join Dean by the car. Just as Beclyn was about to step out of the front door, George grabbed her arm.

"Don't think of me as a rambling old man," he told her, obviously fighting over something in his mind. "But, when I say that the circumstances of the deaths were _suspicious_, I really mean that there was no possible way it could have happened - especially Sarah's death. The way that bar went through her… A policeman calculated that there was no way that bar could have hit her like that. And as for Karla and Bradley's deaths… Well, the girl was the only one in the house. I even heard that when the police questioned her, she told them that Sarah had come and taken them away."

Beclyn stared at him quizzically, and then smiled her most theatrical warm smile. "Don't worry, sir. I'm sure that there's some rational explanation for the accidents. It's what we're here to investigate."

The man smiled back and let out a relieved sigh. "I suppose you're right. But I'll tell you one thing, when that little girl left this town became a happier place. The accidents were a huge shock to this community and it was only expected that some people blamed her…"

Reaching out a hand, Beclyn patted the fingers wrapped around the sleeve of the jumper. "I understand, sir. It's not your fault."

George smiled and let go of her jumper. "Have a safe journey back to your college."

Waving goodbye, Beclyn watched him close the door, and then began making her way to the car. Halfway across the yard, she heard scrambling inside the house and then the door slam open.

"Wait!" Madge called. "Wait, dear! I found the photograph!"

Beclyn stopped and turned around. Madge looked red-faced and she was gasping for breath.

"Deary-me," Madge heaved. "Old women should really _not_ run around like that. My poor heart's running a race." She passed the photograph to Beclyn and said, "You can keep that one. It will help you more than us. Have a safe journey, now!"

And with that, she clonked back up to the house and shut the door. Beclyn gazed at the picture in her hand, her heart pumping faster as she looked at the faces. The faces seemed too familiar from her dream. The woman, the man, the little girl…

Although the picture was black and white, Beclyn could tell that Sarah shared her mother's blonde hair and stunning height. Bradley must have had a certain darker colour of blonde hair, too. It made the little girl with black hair stick out like a sore thumb. Beclyn trained her eyes on the little girl, and then suddenly, her stomach dropped heavily. The girl… She was as frightening as the elderly couple had described her. Her eyes glared out of the picture, as if she was challenging the person taking the picture. She was wearing the same white dress as in the dream. But most of all, she was so damn familiar that Beclyn couldn't believe that she had missed the resemblance. It made her ill.

Sam came jogging up the lawn, realizing that Beclyn was looking incredibly sick. She reminded him of people who were only moments from passing out.

Flipping over the picture, Beclyn read the commentary on the other side.

_Family Day, 1986_

_Karla Smithfield, Bradley Smithfield, Sarah Smithfield, Beclyn Jones_

* * *

… **(looks around corner, trying to hide)… So, who's going to try and kill me for leaving it right there? My beta tried. Anybody else up for a bit of killing the author? I'm sure coldestkiss77 will try and kill me.  
**

**A big shout-out to the Ghost Hunt ****fans (Naru is hot, just for good measure) and Smallville fans (must I say anything other than 'Jason is gorgeous'?). HOORAH! **

**Remember, 8 reviews and the next chapter is YOURS. **


	29. Chapter 29

**Whoa! Talk about the angry mob of fangirls! I think that's the closest to hate-mail I've received. Most people wanted to attack me for leaving such a cliff-hanger. And you know what? I loved it. Looks like I'm gonna have to learn how to dodge bullets because I'm putting in more cliff-hangers for the hell of it. –squeels as angry mob of fangirls stampede-- **

**Okay, I didn't get my 8 reviews but time was dragging on a bit. I would have had this chapter posted sooner but school-life is rush, rush, rush these days. I've started on the next chapter so it's all good. Stay tuned after the chapter to find out about a vote!  
**

**The next chapter will cost you 7 reviews. No joke. –grins–**

**Warnings: swearing, adult themes**

* * *

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 29**

The hotel kitchen which may have once just been a simple, small cooking space suddenly became an interrogation room the moment the hunters arrived back at their temporary home.

The entire room shook as Dean slammed the black and white photo on the table. His face was contorted with so many feelings since he didn't know which one to fully express.

He was furious at being tricked. Beclyn must have known about everything – how else would she have been able to tell them about the family? It wasn't the first time she had lied, why would this be any different? However, despite all the anger and rage building inside, he also felt as if she had personally betrayed him. He had subconsciously assigned himself as her personal defender over the past week, and this is how she repays him?

Finally, with Sam and Beclyn watching him, he spat, "What the hell is this?"

Beclyn shrugged, lost. She couldn't believe that she hadn't recognized the girl in the dream as herself. She had only ever seen herself as either too young or too old to be the running girl from the dream.

Running a hand through his hair, Sam pleaded with his brother, "Dean, let's just try and take this one step at a time."

"No," Dean hissed. He charged up to Beclyn, grabbing her by the shoulders roughly. "What the hell is this, Beclyn? Why are you in this photograph and why didn't you tell us about it?"

Beclyn glared, unfazed by the unwavering threat of the tightening grip on her shoulders. "I don't know."

"_Bullshit_!" Dean roared. "Tell us the truth."

"I am!" she defended herself. "I had no idea this was me."

Dean shoved her into a chair with such force that it almost collapsed. He sat on the table. She had to be lying, she just _had _to be. "I should have done this from day one," he snarled. "Who are you?" he questioned.

"Beclyn Jones."

"Where do you come from?"

"I don't know."

"Who were your parents?"

"I'm not sure."

"Why the hell are you in this photograph?"

"You think I have more of an idea than you? I'm as frigging confused as you are, so back off!"

Dean leant back, thumbing the photograph. "So you're trying to tell me that you can't remember? Cut the bullshit, Beclyn."

"Do you think that if I had remembered I would have dragged you all the way out there? I have not a clue who these people are!" Beclyn yelled at him. She tried to get out of her seat, but Dean pushed her back down. She lashed out with her elbow, making Dean loosen his grip.

"Is this some sick game you've made?" he asked her, looking at her straight in the eye. "Do you like fucking with everyone's minds?"

"For the last time, _no_!" Beclyn scowled at him.

"Dean…" Sam begged.

"No," Dean said simply. He whipped out his gun from the back of his jeans and lay it on the table away from Beclyn, ready for use if needed. "I want to hear what Beclyn has to say. I want to hear her part of the story."

Beclyn raised her eyebrow. Was this the same man who had wrapped his arm around her last night – the same man who had told her that he would save her from Jamison?

"All I can say is that I honestly don't remember these people."

"Yeah," Dean snorted. "Just like you couldn't remember your parents, or how they died, or…"

"_Dean_!" Sam gasped, aghast. "Let's just hear what she has to say, okay?"

The two boys stared at Beclyn. Beclyn sighed and glanced away, trying to hide her gaze. "Look," she began. "This may sound crazy, but I lost my memory a few years ago."

She could barely say another word before Dean was laughing to provoke her.

"Oh, this just keeps getting better and better," Dean snapped sarcastically, already at the end of his patience. "What else are you going to say? Anymore clichés you wanna try?"

"Dean…"

"No, Sam! People just don't lose their memories. Let me try and guess, Beclyn. You lost it in a car accident – no, a skiing accident… Actually, maybe you were on the Titanic, hey? Ringing any bells?"

"I don't know how I lost it," Beclyn confessed, her voice cracking. "I can only remember the last five years."

"How convenient."

"_Don't_," she spat. "All I remember is waking up and knowing that I was twenty years old, my name was Beclyn Jones, and I had to kill the things hunting me."

"So, what? You became the Lara Croft of hunting supernatural creatures overnight, did you?"

"_I don't know how I knew_!"

"Oh, this is just brilliant," Dean sighed drastically.

Beclyn turned back, her lips twisted in anger. "All I know is that somehow what happened in that town all those years ago is connected to the murders here and now."

"They're connected?" Sam asked, confused.

"Didn't you hear the old man?" Beclyn snarled. "He said that Karla and Bradley were found without blood. Relapse, anyone? The murders here are the same."

"Oh, I bet they are," Dean agreed sarcastically with a slow, patronizing nod. "Hey, you know what? Maybe they're the same because _you_ did it."

"Don't be a fucking moron," Beclyn whispered harshly. "You had your arm around me the entire night that Thompson Grey died. If I had moved you would have woken up."

"You had you're arm around…?" Sam started, trying to change the subject. It didn't work.

"Hey, maybe you put a spell on me," Dean said, crossing his arms. "Maybe you're a witch."

"Don't you _dare_ insult me by categorizing me with those whores!"

Sam rubbed his eyebrows, trying to keep up with the conversation. "Wait," he stopped them. "Beclyn, you said that the murders were connected, right? Well, I think we may be able to prove it." Crossing to the television, Sam turned on the screen, and then played the surveillance tape. He paused it exactly as the creature was hovering above the water. Quickly, he grabbed the black and white photo off the table and held it up to the screen. "See anything significant?" he asked.

Dean frowned, then snorted, "Nup."

"Wait." Beclyn raised a hand to Sam to gesture him to move. She took the photograph from him and pressed it against the glass. "Look," she said, pointing from the screen to the photo. "We know that Karla and Sarah had blonde hair, right? Even in this black and white photo their hair is lighter than normal."

"So?" Dean scoffed.

Beclyn looked up at him. "The creature in the surveillance has the same hair colour."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Point being?"

She wished she had a knife or _something_ sharp and pointy to throw at him. "_Shut up, Dean_. I think this whole thing has got to do with what Sam said. He told the old man about reflections and how they suck in souls, right? Well, what if it could travel through mirrors, like use them as a transport device?"

"Sort of like how Bloody Mary could appear in different mirrors," Sam said, realizing the link.

Beclyn looked from the screen to the photo. "What if it was hunting people through reflections? What if the creature who is murdering people here was actually Karla or Sarah? All they would need is a mirror and…"

"I'm really sure it's Sarah," Sam added, leaning closer. "Look at the face on the creature. There seems to be a gaping hole where her forehead should be."

"Okay, brilliant deduction. How the hell do we know it's right?" Dean sighed. There was no point arguing now. He was like a mouse against the gigantic fridge of secrets when working with those two – locked out and without any way of opening the door.

"Well…" Beclyn looked at Sam. "There's only one way to find out."

"A summoning?"

"I'm her cousin. What are the chances that she can ignore me?"

Leaping from the floor, she scrambled to the bathroom and pressed her hands against the basin, staring straight into the small mirror.

"Beclyn!" Dean cried out, realizing what she was going to do and instantly not liking it one bit.

"Sarah!" Beclyn called into the mirror. Her glare hardened as nothing happened. "Come on, you bitch. If you think I killed you all those years ago then take your revenge here and now. Tear me to fucking pieces if you dare!"

Dean and Sam were paused in the doorway, their eyes wide in fear. Beclyn waited, staring into the mirror. Finally, she breathed a sigh and shook her head. Turning to face the brothers, she softly shook her head.

However, the boys weren't looking at her, they were staring wide-eyed at the mirror. Beclyn swivelled around, shocked as her reflection grinned menacingly at her.

"Beclyn, come away!" Dean ordered her.

Suddenly, two thin, claw-like hands reached from the mirror, grabbing onto Beclyn's temples. Groaning against the pain, Beclyn didn't have time to cry out as she felt the creature begin to scratch through her flesh and into her skull.

"Sarah!" Beclyn grit through her teeth menacingly.

Abruptly, the clawing stopped. The claw-like hands retracted as Beclyn's reflection looked dumbfounded.

"_Bec…lyn_?" it mouthed.

Beclyn stared at the mirror, her hands shaking as she waited for the next attack.

"_Oh, my God_!" Beclyn's reflection suddenly cried happily in a screech-like voice. "_Beclyn, like… Oh, my God. How long has it been_?"

A giant grin spread across Beclyn's reflection, making it seem less menacing. "_It's been, like, years since we, like, saw each other!" _

The grin remained for a moment, and then instantly, it disappeared and was replaced by a horrific wailing sound as the reflection began to sob hysterically.

"_Oh… My… God…_" it cried, gasping and wheezing for breath. "_I… almost… killed… Beclyn…_"

It covered its face with its hands as it wailed, "_Please… forgive… me! I would…never_… _try to… kill my… sister!_"

Beclyn didn't know what to say. She was still quivering slightly and there was a ringing in her ears. Was this ghost here to kill her or plead for forgiveness?

"It's… okay," Beclyn told the mirror in a less than satisfactory voice. The ghost didn't seem to notice.

"_No, it's not_!" her reflection cried hopelessly. "_Punish me, Beclyn! I tried to hurt you. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!_" The reflection flinched as Beclyn moved a hand to wipe her temples. She was thankful that there wasn't much blood.

"No, really," Beclyn said, figuring out that her reflection was being sincere. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

Her reflection continued to hold its hands over its face. "_Really_?" it sniffed.

Beclyn shrugged. "Yeah."

Suddenly, her reflection was ecstatic. "_Oh, thank you, Beclyn! You're so kind! You're so sweet, and wonderful, and nice! I'm so lucky to have a friend like you!_"

Beclyn's jaw dropped along with Dean and Sam's.

"My God," Dean mumbled. "It's Casper the bipolar ghost."

For the first time since arriving, Beclyn's reflection acknowledged the boys standing in the doorway.

"_Who are they_?" it asked sweetly. A psychopathic grin twisted over her face. "_Sacrifices_?"

"What?" Sam cried out.

"No, dude, we're not sacrifices," Dean quickly stated.

Beclyn's reflection turned to its owner. "_Can I eat them_?" it pled with her.

Shaking her head, not once taking her eyes off the reflection, Beclyn said, "No. This is Dean and Sam. They're friends of mine."

"_Aw_!" the reflection wailed. "_I haven't had anything to eat in days! I'm so hungry! Can't you get me some blood or something? I'm always nice to you_!"

Almost every eyebrow in the room shot to the roof. Beclyn threw a quick glance at the brothers. "Uh… Blood, huh?"

The reflection licked its lips. "_They'll do_," she said, nodding towards the boys. Dean and Sam took a step back to place more distance between them and the homicidal ghost.

"No," Beclyn quickly snapped. Her reflection turned back to her. Beclyn glanced around the room, hurriedly trying to find something of worthwhile substance for the ghost. Her wrist caught her attention. "You can't feed from them, but what about me?" she offered.

"What?" Dean snapped, instantly protective despite the interrogation only minutes before.

The reflection paused, ignoring Dean. "_You would feed me with your own blood_?" it asked disbelievingly. "_I mean… Your blood is your blood, and you've never given it to me before… So, like, it's kinda, like_..._"_

"Will it do?" Beclyn pressured.

The reflection licked its lips for the second time. _"Female blood is more substantial… One feed could last for weeks, no, make that months… But to feed off you is… It's, like, so… But if you're willing…" _

Beclyn ignored her and ordered Sam to pass her a knife. She caught the hilt of the blade as Sam tossed her one from the kitchen.

"Okay. Instant blood," Beclyn said sarcastically. She carved a small hack into her palm and waited.

"_Do you have a cup_?" her reflection asked. _"It's so barbaric to drink without a cup."_

Dean apprehensively walked away and returned with a plastic yellow cup. Beclyn let the blood pour into the cup until it was almost full. She then placed it on the wash basin.

The mirror fogged over. There were eerie sucking sounds around the room before Beclyn realized it was Sarah drinking the blood from the cup. Suddenly, the mirror cleared to reveal a girl with long, blonde hair and pale blue eyes.

"_That's so much better_," she said with a wide grin. _"Female blood is so, like, much better than boys. I haven't felt this totally great in ages!"_

"You're Sarah?" Dean inquired, wondering what else he could say. He didn't want to say the wrong thing and ending up as a sacrifice.

"_Um-hm_," Sarah replied, her tone less than interested. She turned her attention back to Beclyn. "_This is so cool_!" she cried happily."_We're going to be the fighting team again! We're gonna suck those bad guys dry and live on through the night! Team Beclyn and Sarah strike again_!"

"Come again?" Beclyn raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"_It'll be just us again," _Sarah continued, ignoring her._ "You know… The duo who will cleanse the society one man at a time. Maybe Gary will keep his nose out of things this time and…_"

"Gary?" Beclyn felt more confused by the second.

"_Are we in the Cave?" _Sarah's gaze dawdled around the room.

"Sarah, I need you to answer some questions. When was the last time you saw me?"

"_Six years, three months, and twenty-two days to be exact._" Sarah's attention snapped back to Beclyn. "_You look so different now. Did you cut your hair?_"

Sam stepped forward. "Uh… Excuse me, Miss Smithfield, but if you saw Beclyn six years ago you could really be a great help."

Sarah moved her gaze to him and stared. Sam felt like a lab-rat as her eyes didn't move. "_You know,_ _you're kinda cute,_" she told him cheekily.  
Sam's face flushed bright red as he stammered, "W…What…?"

"Sorry, Ma'am, but Sam has a girlfriend." Dean quickly jumped to his brother's aide. "Isn't that right, Sam?"

"Yes, completely. Totally have a girlfriend," Sam agreed too quickly. "Couldn't be any more girlfriend-ed."

"_Okay, fine_," Sarah said as she sniffed. "_I didn't think you were that good-looking anyway." _

Beclyn had to suppress a smirk as Sarah's lips pouted. Apart from murdering people, Sarah seemed completely harmless and naïve.

Suddenly, Sarah stretched and sighed, "_It was, like, so much fun seeing you, Beclyn. I kinda have to go now. It's getting late and all." _She giggled slightly. "_Just call on me again if you need me for anything. And, hey, don't hog all the boys next time, okay?"_

"Wait… Wait! Sarah!" Beclyn yelled, but the mirror had already cleared.

The three hunters stood for a few moments in silence. Beclyn glared at the mirror, trying to search for a way to call her back again. Suddenly, Sam asked, "Did we just solve the case?"

Beclyn sighed and backed away from the mirror. "For now." She turned back to the boys. "At least she won't be hunting for a little while."

Smirking, Dean bluntly added, "Your family's weird."

Another long silence filled the room.

"So, uh, no hard feelings about the…" Dean gestured to the kitchen table, "…questioning thing…?"

Beclyn sighed and shrugged. "Can't help it. Stupid people have to be stupid."

"Hey…" Dean whined.

"Wait," Sam interrupted quickly. "What did she mean by 'Gary', and the 'Cave'?"

Frowning, Beclyn and Dean tried to think.

"I don't know who Gary is, but I think Dad's mentioned the Cave before," Dean said, trying to clear his thoughts.

"Did he say anything helpful?" Beclyn asked.

"No." Dean shook his head. "He only ever mentioned it once, and it was too brief to know anything."

"Well, that settles it," Beclyn sighed. She walked into the bedroom, quickly packing her things.

Sam and Dean rushed into the room after her. "You're leaving?" Sam gaped.

"No," Beclyn said, picking up Dean's duffel bag and tossing it to them, "_we're_ leaving. If your Dad knows anything about my past, then we're going after him."

"So, you're staying with us?" Sam could barely keep the joyous grin from his face.

Beclyn walked up to him, crossed her arms and said, "Looks like it. With me on your side, we'll probably find him in no time at all."

Dean smirked, glad that she wasn't looking so frail or distraught anymore.

"So," Beclyn told them with a rare smile. "'Bout time we went and found him."

* * *

**No cliff-hanger here, but there's gonna be one next chapter. Which one of the boys shall I torture? –rubs hands-- It's so much fun being an evil, sadistic author! Okay, let's hold a special vote. Which boy should be seriously harmed in the next chapter - Dean or Sam? Don't think I'm joking. I look forward to your replies! **

**Remember 7 reviews. **


	30. Chapter 30

**Thank you so much for the reviews! But I must say that I have never been threatened so much in this chapter as I have for every other one. I've had a pitchfork shoved at my face, a gun pointed at me, and of all things a BAZOOKA targeted at me! And all because they didn't want me to kill of the unfortunate brother of the vote. -- Sam and Dean stare blankly and suddenly feel very uneasy --**

**And what was the eventual outcome of the vote? **

**Sam - 2**

**Dean - 3**

**How many times threatened - 3**

**Just a warning that this chapter might disturb some people. **

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 30**

* * *

_The Cave_

The room was dimly lit with candles and arranged as a study. Less than a week ago it had been empty of any contents apart from a singe chair. Now, bookcases crammed full of psychology, law and philosophy tomes lined the walls. Most were useless, with absolutely no purpose except to make the room seem more homely. Matching the wood of the bookcases, a great oak desk sat towards the back of the room. A couch suitable for a psychiatrist's office was positioned before the desk. Although it remained empty, the desk did not. Large piles of pristine-white paper obscured the view of the room as the person who sat behind it hurried to sign them all. The man clenched his teeth and quickly signed the next signature line, damning legislation as he went. This morning his signature had been neat, fresh, and consistent. Now it was a scribbled mess, harsh and forced onto the paper. He eased his wrist and flexed his aching fingers. If he'd known there was going to be this much paperwork involved in being a leader, he would have resigned the moment he inherited the position from his father.

Suddenly, the soft click of a door closing caught his attention. His eyes narrowed, suspicious of who had joined him. His reflexes were still excellent after all these years.

"Catching up on the paperwork you've missed out on for the last six years?" a voice interrupted him from the couch. The man's shoulders relaxed, then grew tense with irritation. He didn't even have to peek through the massive piles of paper to know that his older and only brother was lying on the couch in front of him.

The golden-eyed demon stretched out, enjoying the feel of a new leather couch. His gaze drifted around the room, observing the new layout.

"I like the whole _'trying to be normal'_ thing," he stated simply. He placed his hands behind his head, acting like a mischievous teenager, even though he looked to be in his late fifties. "Especially the couch. It's nice."

"Came with the set-up," was the annoyed reply from behind the paperwork.

"It's a bit different for you, though," the golden-eyed demon continued, beginning to pick at a patch of roughened leather. "I was starting to think you actually _liked_ the grey-scale look."

"Do you have a report to state or are you only here to pester me as you always seem to accomplish?"

The demon's golden eyes flitted over the paper work, ignoring the last statement. Each piece seemed to be a list of some form, mostly cluttered with prices, rarity, and stockholder.

"What's all this?" he asked, apprehension creeping with curiosity. His eyebrow arched when there wasn't a reply. "You know you can trust me," he urged. "I'm your brother for God's sakes."

The demon behind the desk hesitated before continuing to sign the paper. "I'm trying a different approach to my problems."

Standing, the golden-eyed demon snatched a piece of paper off the desk, ignoring the hiss from his younger brother. Reading the list and prices, he let out a low whistle.

"I'm glad you're taking a new approach to this revenge ordeal, really. But honestly, what could possibly cost upwards of ten grand?"

The papers continued to be signed. "Ingredients."

"Ingredients for what?"

For the first time, his brother looked up at him with a patronizing glare. "For solving my problems, of course."

The golden-eyed demon picked up another piece of paper. "This one's even more!" he stammered. He pointed at the list angrily. "Since when does cat-hair cost six-hundred dollars?"

"Since my supplier decided so. What's the issue? Money is plentiful."

"Yeah, but when you're spending a million dollars on ingredients that you could find in a local trash can, I do think that somehow you're being messed with." There was a moment of silence, disturbed only by the crackle of flickering candles and scratching of pen on paper.

"My supplier is loyal," the sitting demon finally stated.

The golden-eyed demon ran a hand through his hair. He should have known better. His supplier had always been the same moronic wealth-craving woman. "That woman should be tried for treason."

"The law system doesn't allow humans to undergo punishment."

"Oh, so she's _'human'_ now? Last time I checked, she was claiming to be a witch," the golden-eyed demon hissed through clenched teeth.

"Even humans can create potions; they just require the correct skills."

Biting his tongue, the older demon paced the space in front of the couch. He couldn't see how having one girl killed could equate to that expense. He could have her assassinated by any demon at any time. Why go to the trouble of ordering all this?

Suddenly, a ringing sound pierced the room. The older demon jumped. "What the hell is that?" he snapped.

His brother shuffled a few paper-stacks aside to reveal a black last-century style phone.

"You have a phone?" the golden-eyed demon questioned, more in awe than suspicion.

His brother glared at him, his body language demanding that he be left alone. The golden-eyed demon turned obediently to leave, incredibly curious as to who was on the other end. He stopped just outside the door, turning his head as he heard the phone being picked up.

"Good evening," he heard his brother say. There was a momentary silence before his brother said, "I'm just signing your paperwork now…"

A surge of anger rushed through the golden-eyed demon towards the woman on the other end of the phone. Without a moment's hesitation, he slammed the door closed and hurried away.

Through past experience, he knew that something terrible was about to happen.

- - -

_One week later_

The bar was hot and smelled like unwashed armpits. Girls of all shapes and sizes scuttled around, trying to find the best catch. Overweight men sat at the counter on barstools, smoking cigarettes and leering. Sometimes one would reach out and squeeze a girl's backside, making her giggle like a deranged child at the attention.

Two heavily overweight bikers sat drinking beers, their scumbag gazes eyeing off the girls with obvious desires. One was just about to order another beer when he felt a sharp nudge in his ribs. He turned to his drinking buddy, ready to punch him for making physical contact.

"Wait, man," his friend said quickly, and then nodded towards a set of booths on the far wall. "Check her out."

The first biker turned to where he was gesturing and felt a grin slide across his sweaty face. A gorgeous girl with dark hair and big tits sat across from them, with a skinny twig of a man for company. She was gazing mildly around the room with a bored expression. The biker liked what he saw, and he _always_ got what he wanted. He stood, already licking his lips as he imagined her on top of him, squealing the way his girls always did when he would grab their tits roughly and bite at their nipples. They would cry out and break as he took them, with or without permission. A girl was a creature with only two purposes in life – to give a good blowjob and to be broken. This one looked tough to break, but he could definitely break her.

He approached the table and didn't wait for her attention. "Hey there, girlie," he said as he crossed his bulky arms. "Look a bit sad over 'ere, don't cha? Why sit with this pencil-dick when you can get a real man?"

The girl slowly turned her head to face him, her eyes looking bored and less than amused. She shook her head as she turned to the man sitting on the other side of her before saying, "You'd think they'd learn, wouldn't you?"

"Sorry," the twig of a man excused quickly, looking at the biker. "She's not really interested."

"Well, come on now," the biker continued with more urge. "Girl can talk for herself, can't she? Or is that mouth only good for…"

"A pig like you has a hell of a lot of nerve to come here and suggest that I would even contemplate leaving here with you," the girl sighed, barely showing any interest.

"Well, look here, girlie…" the biker began, but was cut off as she continued.

"I mean, honestly. It's a wonder you can even find your penis under all that stomach. I bet you haven't even seen it in years, have you? A bit of information, asshole, you need a dick to have the fun that you're after, so you're instantly out of the running."

Flushing red in anger, the biker struggled to construct a basic sentence.

"Beclyn…" the twig of a man groaned.

"Anything else you wanna say, pudgy?" she asked the biker in a bored tone.

The biker clenched his fists before snapping, "Fuck you, bitch," and then walked away.

There was a moment of tense silence before Beclyn sighed and stretched her arms. Trying to relax in such a grubby surrounding was like trying to clean a body with mud.

"Do you have to insult everyone?" Sam asked her, irritated. He watched as the biker slammed open the bar door and left, his friend shortly following after.

"It's not my fault he can't keep it in his pants," Beclyn told him. Her gaze drifted back across the bar to where Dean was standing with a laughing girl. Her heart raced slightly as he met her gaze. She just realized that he must have seen the whole incident with the biker. The girl Dean was standing with followed his gaze to the table and glared at Beclyn jealously for a second. She reached up and grabbed Dean's chin with a nervous giggle to turn his attention back to her. Dean seemed slightly stunned before letting out an embarrassed laugh and continuing the conversation.

"Beclyn…?" Sam caught her attention.

"What?" she snapped quickly, feeling flustered.

"You didn't even hear a word I said, did you?" he nagged. His shoulders relaxed. "Look, if you're so upset about Dean being with that girl then why don't you just…"

"I'm not upset about him being with her," Beclyn jumped in abruptly. "I just have no patience when it comes to him and his over-drastic ego when we're trying to work."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "It's okay to be jealous."

"_I am not jealous!_"

Recoiling from Beclyn's hiss, Sam tried to change the subject as he stuttered, "W-We should be trying to find Dad, right? Have any leads yet?"

Beclyn flipped out the journal. "Only that he doesn't want to be found."

Sam shrugged. "You don't say."

She opened the journal and flicked through the pages. "I'm being serious," she told him. "He's gone to so much trouble to try and hide himself. He's added things here and there so it's impossible to guess what his last entry was and he never states anything useful like…" She didn't get a chance to finish as Dean pulled into a seat beside her. His date had already left, as had most of the bar's other patrons.

"Hey," he greeted. He instantly turned to Sam. "Hey, Sammy, I'm sure I can hook you up with one of the girls here if you're interested…"

"Dude, no," Sam insisted for the fifth time. "If I wanted the same diseases that I'd get from the girls here, then I'd eat some bar-nuts, okay?"

"Whoa." Dean raised his hands. "Just saying, man. These girls are like frisky puppies… they need a master, if you know what I mean."

"If you're done with your stupid patronizing conversation about women, I'd like to point out that it's nearly two o'clock in the morning and that I'd like to get out of here," Beclyn added sharply.

Dean threw her a questioning glance which she stubbornly ignored. Sam shrugged, not noticing them. "I'm tired, too. Let's get going."

The three of them stood to leave. There was barely anyone left in the bar. Dean threw some cash down on the table. Beclyn waited for him inconspicuously by pretending to read a drinks menu as Sam walked on ahead.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she hissed at him once Sam was outside.

Dean stared at her with an innocent smile. "What do you mean?"

Beclyn let out a held breath before saying, "We're on a gig and you're off with girls left, right, and centre."

"What gig?"

"The gig to get your father back!"

"Oh, _that_ gig," Dean sighed. His smile returned for a second but instantly fell as Beclyn didn't return it. "Beclyn…" he started.

"Don't _'Beclyn'_ me."

For a second, they both seemed as if they were on the verge of saying something more, but Dean just grabbed his jacket, leaving before the conversation could become anymore awkward.

He pushed open the bar door, pulling on his jacket as the cold breeze hit him. The parking lot was practically deserted. Suddenly, his brother screamed out, "Dean!"

Dean felt two strong hands grab him by the shoulder and launch him into a pile of trash cans. Dean groaned and pushed the tins out of his path as a fist came flying from nowhere and landed on his jaw. He fell back to the ground with a grunt as the pain hit his mind like a tidal wave.

"Let go of him, you bastards!" Sam yelled from a few metres away.

"Sam?" Dean moaned as his vision cleared to reveal another man holding Sam back.

Struggling furiously, Sam hit the man restraining him in the stomach. The man cried out and released his grip.

"Sam, run!" Dean ordered.

Faltering, Sam didn't have enough time as a hand collided with the back of his knees, making him sprawl to the ground.

Trying to get up to help him, Dean heaved himself up and began running to his brother. Abruptly, a muscled hand shot out and yanked him back by the jacket. Dean turned and punched the man in the ribs. The man cringed, but didn't go down. Dean was about to finish him off when the massive man ordered, "Don't move or your friend gets it!"

Dean froze. He turned to look at Sam. Sam was being held back by the other man. There was a large knife to his throat. The man in front of Dean smirked as everything came to a stand-still. Dean recognized the attackers.

"You're the bikers from in there, aren't you?" he hissed.

The man grinned, revealing blackened teeth. "I get what I want," he stated.

"You don't need to hurt Sam," Dean told them. "He didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh, yeah?" the man in front of him laughed before pulling a knife from his vest. He shoved it under Dean's chin, just a millimeter from his throat. "Neither did you, but it wouldn't stop me from slicing open your throat. Now, where's your girlie-friend?" he asked.

"Right here," a voice said from behind him. He heard a click and felt something round and metallic, like a barrel, being pushed against the back of his head.

"Drop the knife," Beclyn ordered.

The biker smirked. "You can shoot me, girlie, but your friend over there will still get gutted."

As if for conformation, the other biker pushed the knife harder into Sam's skin, causing Sam to cry out.

"I said, drop the knife!" Beclyn demanded again.

The biker facing Dean dropped the knife as told. Dean let out his breath at the fact that he wasn't being held at knife-point anymore. Suddenly, there was a massive cry as Sam threw his elbow down into his assailant's crotch. The biker sunk to his knees, dropping the knife.

"Sam!" Dean cried out and began running over to help his brother.

Beclyn looked up for an instant and then suddenly felt something collide with her wrist, smashing the gun from her hand. The biker smacked her in the jaw with his fist then dove for the gun. Beclyn raced to get it first, even with her head spinning from the impact of the punch. He grabbed it and tried to cock it, but Beclyn grabbed his wrists and tugged, ruining his aim. He grunted as he tried to shake her off. There was a piercing sound as a bullet tore through the night, but it didn't hit anything. Beclyn threw her weight onto his wrists, dragging the gun down. Another bullet fired and hit the cement.

"Let go!" the biker roared, then smacked her across the cheek.

Beclyn fell back, and then dodged his aim as he fired at her. She glanced over to Dean and Sam which were trying to get away from the other biker. The other biker had grabbed Sam with one hand and had the knife ready to strike in the other. Sam kicked out with his foot. It collided with the biker's nose. The biker let out a cry as blood spurted from his nose. He raised the weapon, ready to plunge it down into Sam's back.

"Sam, move!" Dean yelled, managing to grab his brother.

There was a second as knife pierced skin and carved through flesh. The blade prodded around slightly, causing agony to its prey before finally being withdrawn, leaving the wound open and oozing with blood.

The brothers paused for a moment as if wondering which of them had been stabbed. The biker stood, the bloody knife still in his hand. He moved to stab again, but their attention was caught abruptly as two more shots fired into night. Sam turned back to the biker. Instantly, his face looked as if he was going to be sick. The biker had a bullet-hole in his temple. Blood trickled over his face and neck, leaving his eyes blank. The biker's figure seemed frozen as a statue as he stood, then suddenly, he fell to the ground, no longer a threat.

A momentary silence filled the parking lot as the remaining four people watched in horror. The brothers stood together, one set of hands shaking from fear, the other from a numbing pain in his stomach as blood soaked through his shirt.

"You goddamned…" the other biker swore as he pointed the gun directly at Beclyn's forehead.

She paused and held her breath, wondering if he could go through with it. A click from the gun as he pulled the trigger answered her question. No shots fired. The biker gasped, stunned. The gun was empty. He looked at the shaking weapon in his hands, before tossing it away and making a run for it. Beclyn stared as he ran, but then realized what he was running from. Red and blue lights were flashing in the distance as authorities arrived. Beclyn let out her held breath, when suddenly she heard something heavy hit the cement.

"Dean!" Sam yelled.

Beclyn turned to see Dean collapsed on the ground with Sam quickly rushing to his side.

_Time slowed._

She ran to his side, almost too slowly.

_Sirens dimmed._

Sam was sobbing, trying to wake his brother.

_Red and blue lights flashed. _

Beclyn's hands were soaked in scarlet as she tried to stop the bleeding.

_Time came to a stop._

"DEAN!"

* * *

**Next chapter costs you 7 reviews. Who wants to see Dean die? --drools--**


	31. Chapter 31

**Moment of truth, everyone. Has Dean finally thrown in the towel? Will he survive another chapter? Well, first of all, may I point out that it's Dean, and secondly, that this author thinks that he's one of the hunkiest-spunkiest men to hit television. Of course, Sam comes in at a close second. **

**I have the next chapter up and running to go. It'll just cost you a party, 16 boxes of chocolates, the Impala, Dean and Sam at the calling, and 8 reviews. Figure it out. **

**Warnings: Chapter has swearing. Adult themes.**

* * *

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 31**

The red and blue lights danced over the dark shadows in the parking lot. Uniformed authorities dashed back and forwards between signed vehicles and the crammed scene before them. Three or four uniformed ambulance officials were bagging the dead biker.

Sam felt dizzy as the police woman in front of him tried to write out his name on a small police-issued notepad.

"S-AM. W-IN-CHE-STER," she droned as she tried to spell the name. "And the girl?"

"Beclyn Jones," Sam repeated for the third time.

"Is that spelt with a _c_ or a _k_?"

"A _c_," Sam stated once again, his patience dwindling.

He could see Beclyn on the other side of the parking lot with another officer. She was being comforted by the red-haired woman officer while being asked questions – probably nothing to do with how to spell a simple name.

"You said that it was your cousin who got stabbed?" Sam's attention was diverted back to the officer in front of him. "_What's-his-name_?"

"Lucas Tailor," Sam sighed. He knew not to give out his brother's real name since the '_real_' Dean Winchester was buried over six months ago in St. Louis. He wanted to know if Dean was okay, but the officer was avoiding his questions. At least the ambulance was still in the parking lot. Sam didn't know whether that was a good or a bad sign.

"How do you spell…" the officer started.

"L-U-C-A-S, T-A-I-L-O-R," Sam answered before she could finish.

The officer finished scribbling down the names and let out a bored yawn.

"Can I see my cousin now?" Sam demanded, finally out of patience. He felt incredibly infuriated that she found the situation so wearisome.

Ignoring him, the officer flicked through her notepad, scribbling extra notes. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a packet of gum. She didn't offer one to Sam as she popped one in her mouth and began to chew with loud sucking noises.

"Look, I need to…" Sam insisted, but was interrupted as the officer which had been comforting Beclyn jogged over. Sam turned to see Beclyn rushing towards Dean's ambulance. He didn't wait to be dismissed before he began running over as well.

Sam didn't know what to expect as he ran. Would his brother be okay?

_He can't be dead._

Unconscious?

_Please don't be dead._

Would he ever be able to speak to him again?

_Please, God. Don't let him be dead._

"Five stitches! I reckon it should've been at least twelve!" Sam heard his brother's voice within the ambulance.

_Not dead?_

"I can't believe you," Beclyn spat at Dean as Sam approached. Sam noticed she looked relieved. "You were stabbed and all you can say is that you should've got more?"

"Look, all I'm saying is that if I'm _going_ to be stabbed, can I at least have the scar to prove it? I mean, I didn't even get to go to hospital!"

Sam couldn't stop a joyous smile from spreading across his face as he saw his brother sitting up in the ambulance. Apart from looking slightly pale, Dean seemed fine.

"It's a good thing you didn't have to go to hospital," Sam joined the conversation.

"Sammy!" Dean grinned cheekily. "So, what name did you give the cops? Who am I today?"

"Lucas Tailor," Sam stated, the smile still across his face.

"What?" Dean looked aghast. "That's a sissy name, Sam! Couldn't you have given me a better name?"

Sam was about to answer, but Dean just sighed and said, "Oh, well. Not much I can do about it. The great Lucas Tailor has now been stabbed. Oh, and on that note, now is perfect time to impose a few new rules during my recovery from my horrific injury."

"_Horrific injury?_" Beclyn repeated with a raised eyebrow.

Dean nodded. "Number one," he began, "you both have to shout me dinner every night until I say so. Number two…" Sam could guess what was coming as Dean turned to Beclyn with a mischievous smile. "Beclyn, for the purpose of my full recovery, you have now got to start walking around topless."

Beclyn instantly launched at him, ready to punch, but cried out as Dean pulled her into a hug instead. Both Sam and Beclyn's eyes widened as Dean pulled her close.

"Should I…come back later?" Sam joked.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked. "This is just so I can tell Beclyn that she owes me extra benefits while I'm injured."

"Extra benefits – like what?" Beclyn snarled, though she seemed to enjoy the extra contact.

"Well…" Dean started, his voice a little bit too innocent, "being topless is just the first milestone. You have to give me massages whenever I want – and not your bone-crushing ones, either. They have to be…"

He let out a wince as she playfully whacked him on the shoulder.

"Hey! That brings me to rule number three!" he cried out. "No beating up on the disabled guy!"

Beclyn squirmed out of his grip and brushed herself off. Dean was still rubbing his shoulder, wincing slightly.

"You're such a baby, Dean," Sam smirked. "Why don't we just go home?"

"Agreed." Beclyn nodded.

As they walked away, Dean's eyes widened. "No, wait!" he yelled as they ignored him. "I haven't even told Beclyn that she has to shower with the door open yet!"

- - -

_The Cave_

The office-like room stood still and dusty from days of misuse. The pristine-white pages that had once cluttered the desk were now absent. The black phone remained in the middle of the desk. For several days now, it had been the only thing that the younger demon had been staring at. He had rushed to finish signing the paperwork for the ingredients, and was now depending on the phone call from his supplier. She had promised that the spell would be ready within two days. It had been almost four.

Sighing irritably, he lifted the receiver of the phone and dialled the only number he knew. He heard the phone on the other end of the line ring twice.

"_What?_" a female voice hissed as it answered the phone.

"Good evening," he greeted, his tone wavering between a polite friendliness and a vicious snarl. "I was hoping I could receive a statement as to how my business was progressing."

The voice on the other end of the line hesitated. "_I'm getting it done for you,_" the female voice answered more politely as she realized who she was speaking with.

"Good," the demon said cheerfully. "So when can I arrange to pick up the spell?"

There was silence on the other end, accentuated by the passing voices of a crowded area.

"I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time," the demon insisted, even though there was a lingering dangerous edge to his voice.

"_I may not have it to you for a few days yet,_" the voice answered him. "_There's been… a family crisis._"

"Goodness," the demon responded with sarcasm. "Since when do you care about family?"

There was a hiss on the other end as the voice was cornered with his words.

"_I promise I can have the goods transported to you within the next day_."

"That's good," he said emotionlessly. "I know that you understand that I can take your wealth and power just as easily as I gave it to you in the first place."

The voice sucked in a tight breath at the threat, but didn't speak.

"I don't like waiting, Deirdre," he warned, then hung up.

- - -

"…_six people caught in the wreck with two survivors and forty-two volunteers working to hopefully find more throughout the next seventy-two hours. Authorities state that the accident occurred when a cargo train hit a mini-bus full of…_"

_Click._

"…_shot twelve people when a drive-by shooting took place less than twelve hours ago. Residents of the town are shocked beyond belief at the tragedy, many of those having been relatives of the deceased…_"

_Click. _

"…_a major investigating is taking place at the scene where a student was murdered on the grounds of the prestigious school. Many witnesses are stating that the murderer is the daughter of the well-known, wealthy business woman…_"

_Click. _

"Can you believe it?" Sam exclaimed, annoyed. "The biker's death didn't even get onto the news!"

He threw down the TV remote angrily and turned to Dean and Beclyn. "You'd think they'd at least _mention _it!"

"It's better it's not reported, Sam," Beclyn told him as she reached for a fresh bandage to wrap around the stab wound on Dean's stomach. "The police let us go because they said it was an accidental murder. We wouldn't be here right now if they didn't have the biker's fingerprints on that gun."

"It's now on our police records, though!" Sam whined.

"Not on mine," Dean grinned. "It's Lucas Tailor who got the blame instead of me."

"Yeah, but it's Dean Winchester's cell-phone number for the contact details," Beclyn chided, applying pressure to the stitches.

Dean winced at the sharp pain in his stomach. "I couldn't lie about my phone number, Beclyn," he defended himself. "They might call to check up on us. I'll change it once this whole thing blows over, okay?"

Beclyn sighed, putting the last touches on the dressing. She stood and stretched, her hands almost touching the water-stained roof. Some parts of the roof looked like they were about to collapse - one of the many joys of a half-star hotel. At least there weren't any cockroaches.

"I'm gonna go have a shower," Beclyn stated.

"Are you going to leave the door open?" Dean asked hopefully. "Just to make me feel better?"

Sam had to bite the inside of his cheek as Beclyn glowered at his brother.

"Why would _I_ reveal myself just to make _you _feel better?"

Dean feigned being hurt. "Just think that if I die overnight, that would be the last thing you ever said to me." He pouted slightly. "Can't you show any sympathy?"

"None whatsoever."

Crossing his arms, Dean's eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. "Didn't you even feel the slightest bit scared when I was stabbed?"

Beclyn shook her head as she gathered a few garments from her duffel-bag. "I wasn't scared."

Sam's head cropped up from behind the couch. "It's okay to be afraid, Beclyn," he reminded her.

Beclyn stood to her full height and crossed her arms, her face solemn with superiority. "I'm fully capable of looking after myself against anything out there," she stated. "There's nothing that scares me."

The boys shrugged and muttered a few words in response. They were used to Beclyn's narcissistic moments.

Without another word, Beclyn left the room and headed into the bathroom. She shut and locked the door, ignoring Dean's hiss of disapproval. Sighing, she began to strip. Her clothes were damp with sweat. She hadn't stopped worrying about Dean since the stabbing. She could still feel her heart racing from when he'd just fallen without a word. So many images had cropped up into her mind of Dean being in a hospital bed, her and Sam standing around a tombstone, of her never sleeping again for the regret that she may have caused his death. Of course she was scared. She had been absolutely terrified, but the brothers were never to know that.

Turning on the hot water, she waited for the steam to build before stepping into the shower. The walls were grimy with green mould, and several tiles were on the verge of falling off.

Beclyn closed her eyes as she let the water soak her hair.

"_Oh, what – you don't have a fear?_" she heard Dean's voice repeat in her head. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had said that to her.

She reached for the cold tap and accidentally nudged it too far. Freezing water hit her face, causing her to gasp. She felt it dump over her head, shocking her.

"_Help me!"_ a memory of herself screamed inside her head.

Images of scarlet flashed behind her closed eyes. She remembered falling into the bathtub. She remembered being forced to the bottom. She couldn't breathe as he had tried to drown her. Her muscles had seized up as she had tried to fight back, and all the while she had been staring at his emotionless face past the surface of freezing water.

_Jamison_.

Her eyes opened. They stared off into space, wide and horrified beyond belief.

Hell yes, she had a fear alright. Even though he was dead, he still tormented her through her memories.

She turned off the cold water and let the steam build up again, awakening her from her fear. Beclyn could almost still feel the pointed spikes from the sadistic restraints he had made her wear. Her hands stayed positioned on the taps. She swivelled her wrists slightly. There were no scars, nor blood. Memories alone were enough to hurt her. The steam built up inside the glass, fogging it over. It clouded the inside of the shower, calming her somewhat.

She turned the taps off. She didn't move as she let out a long sigh. She must've been standing in the shower for ages, but not once had she touched the soap. Didn't matter – she felt clean and that was all that mattered. She checked her hands to see if they had turned to wrinkled prunes from the water. Suddenly, something on the back of her hand caught her eye. The steam was still clearing, so she couldn't see it clearly, but from what she could see, it was black and big. Maybe even hairy... Did she miss a patch of dirt?

Beclyn went to brush it off, but stopped suddenly.

Since when did patches of dirt have eight legs?

- - -

The frantic scream of horror tore through the rest of the hotel room as if it were a blasting siren. There was a moment of confusion as the brothers didn't move, and then…

"Beclyn!" they both cried out and ran to the bathroom.

Dean thudded his fist on the door as hard as he could without hurting himself. "Beclyn, what happened?"

When there was no reply, Dean became frantic. "Open the Goddamn door, Beclyn!" he roared.

"Dean, calm down," Sam muttered, trying to sooth his worried brother. It wasn't the first time Beclyn had locked herself in the bathroom. Sam knew that they both needed a clear head to solve the situation – something even he was having trouble doing at that moment. "It's alright, Beclyn," Sam called through the door, "we're here to…"

There was a string of loud, terrified blasphemies before Beclyn could make herself understood.

"_There's…_" she whimpered. "_There's a…_"

Sam felt his blood freeze. He wasn't so sure he wanted to see what was on the other side of the door if it scared Beclyn _that_ much.

"Open the door," Dean told her, pressing his arm against the wood.

"_Pass me my gun_," Beclyn demanded through the door.

Sam turned to Dean to throw him an apprehensive glance.

Rapping with his knuckles, Dean ordered, "Beclyn, open the – "

"_I told you to pass me my fucking gun_!"

Sam tried to swallow the bile in his throat but only managed to choke himself.

Suddenly, the door opened and Beclyn tore out of the bathroom faster than Sam had seen her run before. It took him a few moments to realize she was only wearing a towel.

"What is it…" Dean started, but Beclyn interrupted him.

"It's in there!" she wailed, quickly throwing the clothes from her duffel bag to the ground as she tried to find a weapon of any kind.

Sam hesitantly glanced into the bathroom. "Is it a ghost?" he asked.

"_Worse_," Beclyn seethed as she found what she was looking for. She grabbed the gun and advanced towards the bathroom.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean stood forward and stopped her by grabbing onto her shoulders. "Where do you think you're going with that?"

"Where the hell do you _think_ I'm going with this?" she snapped.

Dean stared at her as if trying to tell whether or not she was being serious. "You're not going to offload a full clip of ammo in the bathroom, are you?"

"What else would I be doing with it?" she hissed as she tried to shake him off. "If you don't believe me then you look inside and see what's there!"

"What _is_ there?" Sam asked, still trying to see what she was so panicky about. Something black abruptly scuttled across the bathroom floor to the door.

Beclyn let out a war cry and aimed the gun to the patch of tiles it was approaching.

"Beclyn, don't!" Sam ordered when he realized what it was.

The spider, obviously as terrified as Beclyn, paused, as if praying for mercy.

"Aw…" Sam gushed. He knelt down on his knees and coaxed the spider onto his palm.

"Don't!" Beclyn shrieked. "It might be poisonous!"

"Poor little guy…" Sam murmured, stroking it lightly with a finger. The spider sat in the middle of his hand, not moving. Sam turned to glare at Beclyn. "What were you thinking?" he accused angrily. "How would you feel if a massive giant came along and shoved a gun into your face?"

"I'd probably bite his fucking arm off, which is why you should let it go!"

"What? This little guy…?" Sam brought the spider closer to his chest for comfort. "I'm letting him go outside where _some_ people won't try to murder him." He stalked out of the room, not at all amused.

Beclyn glowered at him until she turned back to Dean. Her eyebrow rose as she saw him blushing a flaming red. "What?" she snapped.

"You're, ahh…wearing a towel," he reminded her. Despite his usual sexist behaviour, he was, for once, looking absolutely embarrassed.

Beclyn sat down on the bed and crossed her arms grumpily.

"Come on, Beclyn," Dean told her as he sat beside her. He placed an arm around her bare shoulders for comfort. "It was just a little spider."

"Was _so_ not little," she complained through a pout.

"Oh?" Dean smirked. He yawned and then smiled one of his irking smiles. "Guess this proves it then."

"What?" She looked at him, curious.

"You do _so_ have a fear," he teased her, jabbing her in the shoulder. "And it just so happens to be _spiders_."

Beclyn flushed a crimson red as Dean laughed heartily. Her tolerance suddenly caved-in. "You might think spiders are my greatest fear, but if you keep laughing at me then I'll make sure I become your worst nightmare!"

Dean still had the grin on his face as he calmed down. Suddenly, his face became serious. "Do you know what this means?" he abruptly asked her.

Surprised, Beclyn stammered, "W-What?"

"Could it be that the great _Beclyn Jones_ is actually _human_?" he teased.

He didn't have time to dodge the punch that flew at him arm. Beclyn continued to scowl as she walked back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Dean rubbed his painful arm with a sulky wince. "I wonder how much king-sized tarantulas cost at the local pet store…" he muttered with a sigh.

* * *

**-- floats up behind reader and chants -- 8 revieeeews… 8 revieeeews… -- freezes as reader turns around – Hmm… Chocolate, anyone? – grins --**

**Oh, and if you see any grammatical mistakes or plot holes, please tell me. Half the time I don't even realize they're mistakes!**


	32. Chapter 32

**Sorry for being so late to post this chapter! I got the eight reviews I needed, but didn't have the betaed chapter to post – dies – **

**Does anybody feel as tired as I feel? Assignments are killing me, my sister's killing me, my computer's killing me, and I want a holiday. Anybody want to join me? Free Sammy and Deans for anyone who pays for all my expenses... **

**Wow. At the rate I'm releasing these chapters, I'll be finished the story by the end of next month. All I need is 8 reviews for the next chapter. Chop, chop!**

**Warnings: Contains swearing (I think...) and adult themes. **

**Question: When's Supernatural 4****th**** season starting?**

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 32**

* * *

_The Cave_

The golden-eyed demon ignored the burning sensation under his feet as the fiery-hot steel grates sizzled the rubber bottom of his shoes. On either sides of the walkway, he could hear the hisses and curses of the workers down below. He always wondered how they could work in such extreme heat – after all, the inner depths of the Cave were mostly lit by raging, barely controllable fires. It was why the pit below him in particular was reserved for the stronger and more sadistic demons.

He approached the huge double doors leading to his younger brother's room. The two muscular guards on either side of the door continued to stare ahead, a sign of respect for the golden-eyed demon.

Sighing, the golden-eyed demon opened the doors and made his way to another smaller, wooden door. He wondered what new idea his brother had devised today. Some days he honestly thought his brother was about as useful as an empty drink bottle in a desert, and as irritating as a sliver of steak stubbornly wedged in between someone's teeth. Opening the door fully, he instantly knew it was going to be one of those days.

"Ah, brother!" the younger demon welcomed him into the room.

Walking slowly into the room, the golden-eyed demon shut the door softly. In the space of a few hours, his brother had transformed the study into a crammed office-space. The bookshelves, desk, and couch had been replaced by desperately overloaded cork boards, stacks of newspapers, and a few plastic chairs.

"I see you've changed your room again," he pointed out sourly.

The younger demon waved his hand in a dismissive motion, an excited grin firmly plastered across his lips. "Who needs a study with all those books?" he asked no one in particular. "I would never have read them anyway."

When the golden-eyed demon didn't reply, the younger demon explained, "I needed space to put these…" He gestured to the stacks of newspapers. "Have a seat, brother."

Quickly looking around, the golden-eyed demon found a blue plastic seat. He dragged it in front of his brother and perched uncomfortably on the edge. He much preferred the leather couch.

"I'm guessing your supplier gave you what you wanted," he observed, wishing that he had stayed upstairs in his room.

The younger demon's grin became wider. He scrambled around to each billboard, plucking several news clippings from their place before returning. He handed them to his brother, barely able to keep still from his excitement. The news clippings were crumpled and yellowed with age. Checking the release date at the top of the paper, the golden-eyed demon realized they were over half a century old. All of the clippings were about the same incident. A woman, or '_Lady_' as the articles referred to her, had been found dead in her prodigious French-style manor after mysteriously disappearing from her own engagement party two weeks before. The police had summed the ordeal up as a kidnap-murder mystery, forever to remain unsolved. That was, until now.

"Old girlfriend of yours?" the golden-eyed demon asked passively, pretending to scan through the rest of the articles as he watched his brother from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, come now," his brother responded. "We both know I'm not _that _old."

"Then would you mind explaining to me why you have over a hundred clippings of the same story?"

Hesitating, the younger demon tried to find the most reasonable phrasing of what he was going to do. "I'm going to open a time-loop," he explained simply.

For a second, the brothers just looked at each other, not saying a word, before they both burst into laughter. The golden-eyed demon cracked up, barely able to see his brother through the tears of laughter, as the younger demon placed a hand over his mouth to suppress his laughs.

After a few moments, the laughter died down to a low chuckle before the room became silent.

The golden-eyed demon's smile remained, matching his brother's. He waited a few moments, as if pressing an unsaid question before his smile completely dropped to a solemn stare.

"Oh, my God. You're being serious," the golden-eyed demon gasped.

"That I am, brother," his brother agreed. "It'll be perfect…" he continued, ignoring his brother's appalled expression. "It took a long time to get the ingredients, but my supplier has promised that the spell will be flawless. It will be an approximated time-loop of course; the original faces were blurred in the pictures so I had to estimate how the others are going to be proportioned. But that shouldn't be a problem because the person's experience will be based on their own familiar codes…well, according to the instructions, anyway…"

The golden-eyed demon leant back in his chair with a long groan. He covered his face with his hands and mumbled, "Why can't you just be normal like everybody else?"

"Pardon?" the younger brother questioned.

"Please, oh, God, _please_ tell me you're not doing this to kill _her_," the golden-eyed demon implored, staring at his brother beseechingly. His brother stared back, speechless.

"Do you know how many regulations you're breaking?" the older demon spat, launching himself off the chair to pace. "It's against our laws to open time-loops, time-holes, or mess with time in any way whatsoever! Then you keep going on about trying to kill _her_ in the most dangerous ways possible to yourself. I mean, for God's sake! Just tie the noose yourself and jump off the ledge while you can, brother!"

The younger demon leant against the wall, crossed his arms, and pouted. "She's just not _any_ kill, brother. She's _the_ kill. I want it to be perfect. I've waited so long to be able to do this…"

"Where have I heard this before?" the golden-eyed demon asked sarcastically as he rolled his eyes. "Oh, that's right! Just before your son died! Or should I say, before he was _sacrificed_?"

"That was an accident. I was underestimating her strength."

"Pretty big accident." The golden eyed demon brushed off his knee-length black coat. Using nightmares as a way to harm people was a fool-proof method that even a child could pull off, but time-loops? It was an untested area of newly-discovered science that should not be messed with. If a nightmare went wrong, it was a problem. If a time-loop failed, the results would be _catastrophic_.

"What would become of the Winchesters?" the golden-eyed demon asked, hoping to change the subject before he lost his faith in his brother's sanity completely.

"The _who_?"

Time stopped for the golden-eyed demon. He knew that if his brother asked anymore stupid questions, he would almost certainly have a heart-attack.

"Oh, you know… Mary Winchester, formerly one of the strongest psychics alive, John Winchester, the psycho demon killer who happens to be _very_ good at his job, and their two sons who are following a little bit too closely in Mummy and Daddy's footsteps… They're just one of the greatest threats to demon civilization as we know it!" the golden-eyed demon snapped.

"Hmm…" the younger demon replied thoughtfully. "I don't see how that's got anything to do with this…"

"_She's_ travelling with them."

"_What_?" the younger demon spluttered, straightening quickly. "What do you mean she's travelling with them?"

"Exactly what I said. And from what my children have seen, she's good friends with them."

"Why didn't the Winchesters kill her? I thought that's what they do when they find people like…"

"Well apparently, they don't know what she is. The father, John, would normally be able to detect things like us, but for some reason he hasn't been with the boys for over a year."

The younger demon bit his lip, deep in thought. "This is a problem…"

"I'll say!" the golden-eyed demon cried out. "They're after _me_!"

The younger demon closed his eyes, and then opened them slowly.

"Actually…" He hesitated. "This could be very useful."

"What?"

The younger demon leant his head back against the wall. "At a logical approach, this is an insightful change to what is expected of her. Why, after so many years, would she join with others when she is so content being alone?"

The golden-eyed demon frowned.

"I mean," his brother continued, "why would she join others unless she had to? Perhaps she's not as strong as we feared."

"We don't know that!" the golden-eyed demon objected. "Besides, she'd spent too many years with us. It doesn't make sense for her appetite to change from…"

"I have no doubt that she has changed over the years to suit her environment. She wouldn't be able to stand being so close to humans without having to adapt. My guess is that she's currently almost exactly what they are – human."

"That's impossible," the golden-eyed demon huffed. "Once someone changes, they can't go back."

"I don't disagree with that." His younger brother nodded. "But perhaps she's trying to hide who she is to be safe. Maybe all it needs to unbalance the scale is a taste of her former appetite for her to become as strong as she once was."

"You're underestimating her again. Just remember what she did to your son."

The younger demon tilted his head into the shadows, hiding his face. "To think, if she's strong enough to kill Jamison and to have hidden under the radar all these years, just think what a single feed would do…"

"Don't worry, brother," the golden-eyed demon said. "As far as I know, people don't serve human blood on the menu."

"It's not human blood which I'm afraid she's after. For years she drank and was always on the verge of becoming a demon. I think her only choice is to drink from a demon or continue being human."

The golden-eyed demon's gaze fell to the ground.

_Fantastic, _he thought sarcastically. _Another reason for her to kill demons._

"Leave," his younger brother suddenly ordered.

Moving towards the door obediently, the golden-eyed demon faltered. He turned back slightly, not entirely shifting his gaze from the floor. "Promise me that you won't underestimate her again, brother," he pleaded.

His younger brother continued to sort the paper clippings, ignoring the last statement.

Sighing, the golden-eyed demon left, uncertainty gnawing away in the pit of his stomach. Sure, his younger brother could be a pain in the arse sometimes, but he was still family.

That was reason enough to kill her if she put so much as a scratch on his brother.

- - -

Crickets chirped merrily beyond the wall of trees. Most of the leaves were golden and brown from the autumn weather. The branches of the tree closest to the hotel swayed in the cool night breeze, scratching at the window softly. The darkness of the room comfortably cloaked the inhabitants as they slept.

Suddenly, Beclyn shot up with a frightened gasp, wide awake. She hurriedly ripped back the sleeves of her blue pyjamas to check her wrists. The nightmare came rushing back.

_Restraints held one of her hands against the wall, blood trickling from under the metal band. A strong hand grabbed her other arm. Beclyn turned her head, and cried out in fear._

She lowered a hand to her chest, feeling her racing heartbeat. She remembered how he had traced her cleavage with those disgusting, animal-like hands. He had ripped off her shirt, wanting her blood as if it were the only thing he had been craving for years.

Scowling, she went to move off the bed, but a hand instantly snaked around her waist and pulled her back.

"Leaving so soon?" a sleepy voice mumbled from the other side of the bed.

Beclyn threw her gaze over the man next to her. She hadn't meant to wake him.

"I need a drink of water," she lied.

"Bull. You had another nightmare."

Sighing, Dean pulled her back into bed and hugged her close.

"You don't need to protect me," she told him gently.

"Oh, sweetheart, this ain't protection," Dean grumbled. "This is sex appeal."

Beclyn shoved him slightly. Dean chuckled and rubbed his chest where she'd shoved him.

"Was your nightmare about _him_ again?" he asked her bluntly.

Letting out a soft hiss, Beclyn answered, "I killed him, Dean. He should be dead."

"He _is_ dead."

"I know… It's just that… I still remember what he did."

"He used you as a punching bag. I know."

Beclyn bit her lip. She hadn't told Dean that Jamison had taken her in more ways than one.

"Look," Dean mumbled. "If you keep having nightmares then maybe we can get you some help. Just know that he can't hurt you. Remember that he's dead."

Feeling her eyelids drooping, Beclyn nodded. "Alright," she whispered.

Drifting back to sleep, she tried to push one last thought from her mind, but couldn't quite manage it.

_Just remember that he's dead. Yeah, right. The thing that sent him isn't._

- - -

* * *

**Next few chapters dwell on some very adult themes, just for a heads-up now. There's going to be some major twists very soon that I can't wait to add in. Remember the eight reviews and I'll get the next chapter up.**

**Anybody have any questions about the story? I'd be happy to answer, and there's going to be cookies for the people who ask questions!**


	33. Chapter 33

**Australia has so many dangerous creatures. The first thing I was told when I was a child was to never pick up any animal - pet or wild. I'm petrified of going to the beach in case I step on a stone fish or an octopus. I pulled out the dagerous creatures book from my home library the other day and read through it. Now I'm scared of going outside too. Perhaps I should become one of those people who live in a box, but then I wouldn't be able to explore the world and write. Besides, if I did that, my parents would sell me to a freak show. **

**Warnings: swearing. **

**Next chapter update: 7 reviews. **

**Disclaimer: Waargahbl. **

* * *

Deadly Betrayal

Chapter 33

The dark shadows of early morning sat silently around the kitchen, as if dozing softly for the last few hours before the first daylight decided to break. It was too early for the sun to rise, or the birds to chatter, or the cars to start cruising down the long highway. Most people were in their warm beds, snoozing away the last of their peaceful night's dreams before having to wake for the day's activities. But then again, Sam wasn't exactly the type of person to have peaceful dreams.

He shuffled around the bench, opening doors and sorting through silverware. He closed the cabinet he was looking in and then let out a soft hiss as his tatty sky-blue shirt became caught on a splinter. He tried to pull away, but the splinter held firm. Groaning, Sam picked at the threads, feeling that, if had choice, sleep would be the better option at that moment than trying to sort out breakfast. Dragging his feet to the fridge, he opened the door and glanced around the almost-empty shelves. His search was fruitless. There was no way in the world he was going to eat soggy fish and chips for breakfast. Muttering frustrated curses, he approached the tiny surface - also known as the kitchen table - and grabbed Dean's car keys. Maybe there was a take-out shop or a coffee place that was open at that time of morning.

Yeah, right.

- - -

_One hour later_

Dean's eyes opened wearily for a second. He thought he heard a lock click nearby, but was too drowsy to pinpoint the direction. He glanced beside him at Beclyn, wondering if she had heard anything. She hadn't moved, meaning she hadn't. Beclyn let out a soft, sleepy groan as he wrapped his arms around her and laid his head on her shoulder. She was warm and comfy - exactly what he needed at that hour of morning. He smelt the flowery fragrance of her dark hair and kissed the smooth part of exposed skin on her neck. Beclyn let out a quiet gasp and curled closer to him. She could be so sexy and cute when she wasn't homicidal and spiteful. Besides, he was getting a great view down her pyjama top. Without thinking, Dean moved his hand under her chin to bring her face towards him. He knew she'd hate him when she woke up if she knew he was trying to kiss her, but stuff it. His lips moved towards hers. He wanted to kiss her. It was all he could think about. He _had_ to kiss her, when suddenly --

The bedroom door burst open, revealing a figure bathed in shadows. Dean's heart leapt into his throat as he almost flew off the bed to reach for his sword-of-a-knife. He could kill first, ask questions later. Beclyn let out a groggy shriek, also trying to find the weapon she kept within safe reach. Dean could feel her quickly searching under the blankets for her hidden knife, but a boyish laugh made them both falter.

"Sam!" Dean yelled at his brother, who was happily standing at the door.

Continuing to laugh, Sam tried to balance three cups of hot coffee. "Morning, lovebirds," he finally managed to say. "Becoming a bit sloppy at protecting yourselves, aren't you? Honestly, a real attacker would have killed you both by now."

Dean's face instantly became scarlet. Did Beclyn know he was trying to kiss her? A worse thought struck his mind like a brick smashing against cement - had Sam seen him...? He turned to Beclyn for support but instead noticed that she had yanked the blankets over her head to hide. Sam chuckled and tried to suppress several snorts as Dean glared at him.

"You guys should see your faces," Sam told them, obviously not understanding that he had walked into a very personal moment - or maybe he did.

"What time is it?" Dean groaned, pretending as if nothing was wrong. Maybe his idiot brother would back off if he thought nothing had happened.

Sam glanced at his watch, careful not to spill the coffee. "4:26 exactly. Man, you guys should be up already. You're missing the best part of the day!"

Stomping forward, Dean yanked one of the Styrofoam coffee cups from Sam's hands and swallowed angrily. He instantly regretted it as boiling-hot frothy water scalded his tongue.

"What is this?" Dean hissed at Sam, spitting the contents back into the cup.

"That one's a vanilla-malt cappuccino with a hint of cinnamon," Sam answered before walking over to Beclyn's side of the bed. He extended one of the cups. "Here, I got this one for you, Beclyn."

"_Go away_," Beclyn seethed from under the blankets. She sounded like the exorcist turned up several notches of terrifying.

"Aw, come on," Sam encouraged. "It's called '_Chocco-Lotta Indulgence Latte' _and I made sure they put heaps of that sprinkly stuff on top for you since you _love _chocolate so much."

An angry grunt was his reply. Dean wondered if Sam knew how close he was coming to having his genitals ripped off. The blankets shuffled slightly as Beclyn let out an aggravated sigh and took the cup of coffee. Sam smiled warmly at her when their eyes met, but an irritated scowl was all he received.

"Sorry I was out for so long," Sam said apologetically. "The coffee place didn't open until four."

"You went out?" Dean asked, deciding to only take small sips of his coffee.

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "It gave me some time to look around. You wouldn't believe what I found in the window of a local store."

The expressions on Dean and Beclyn's faces weren't at all impressed.

"Well..." Sam hesitated, but then continued. "Apparently there's a house nearby that's had haunting signs for years. I talked to the girl at the coffee shop and she said that the owners of the store are trying to sell it after buying it thirty years ago."

"Amazing," Beclyn sighed sarcastically.

"What kind of haunting signs, Sam?" Dean questioned.

Sam placed his cup of coffee on the side table. Dean wondered if he had even tasted it yet.

"There's all sorts of signs - slamming doors, weird noises, funny lights, cold spots."

"I hope you realize they can all be explained," Beclyn reminded, taking the smallest sip from her cup. Her face screwed up distastefully.

"Any reason for it to be haunted?" Dean added.

"There aren't any known violent deaths, but a woman who used to own the house disappeared."

Dean and Beclyn shared disapproving glances.

"It's a gig!" Sam flustered, trying not to be cornered. "We haven't really had a _real _gig in a while." Sam reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a flier. "We haven't got anything else planned," he stated as he passed the flier to Dean.

Glancing over the piece of paper, Dean instantly spluttered. "'_Nearby_', Sammy? This house is over five hours away!"

"But it's a gig..." Sam defended.

"_Five hours_, Sam," Dean hissed, extending the flier to Beclyn. She didn't bother reaching for it. He let out a scowl and left it on the bed. "There must be other gigs closer to here which are far more interesting than a few doors slamming."

Sam let out a long, exasperated groan. "But I want to do _this_ gig!"

"We don't always get what we want, Sam," Dean told him.

Turning away and crossing his arms, Sam bitterly mumbled, "Yeah, but some get more than others."

"What'd you say?"

"Nothing."

There was a tense moment of silence within the room before Dean stretched his arms above his head.

Sam bit his lip pensively before exploding, "You can make it my birthday present!"

Dean scowled. "You've already wasted your birthday present on a pit-stop when we were driving."

"You can make it my birthday, Christmas and Easter present!"

"We don't celebrate Christmas or Easter." Frowning, Dean turned to Beclyn and sighed, "Should we give the toddler his joys?"

Beclyn's eyes narrowed. A gig was a gig. It was about time they got back onto the real track, but Dean was still crippled from the knife attack, and Sam was basically useless without his brother. It only meant one thing - that gig was hers, and there would be nothing more satisfying than seeing Dean's face as she finished a gig without one scratch, cut, bruise or near-death circumstance. It was about time he learnt that males were not the dominant sex.

"Fine," she stated simply.

Dean gagged. He hadn't expected her to give in that easily, and from the way Sam's eyes bulged, neither did he.

"Really?" Sam gushed as if he had been immensely complimented, his face brightening. He almost leapt for joy as Beclyn gave an uncaring shrug.

"Alright then," Dean muttered, clapping his hands to grab their attention. "Now that that's settled, I don't know about you guys, but I could go for some more sleep."

Sam nodded enthusiastically - even if he didn't need any more sleep - and grabbed his coffee cup. Sipping quickly, his face didn't even contort at the foul concoction. "I guess I'd better let you two get back to sleep," he said, feigning innocence as he moved towards the doorway. "Or should I say..." A twinkle of mischief gleamed in his eyes. "_Together _time?" He couldn't help laughing as Dean turned bright red. For some reason or another, Beclyn did too.

He left before they could make any excuses, too happy that he finally got to do something _he _wanted.

- - -

"_...highway warning about early sleet and snow around the area,_" the newscaster's drawling voice announced over the radio. "_Drivers and pedestrians should take care later in the week for cold snaps and possible..._"

Sam tapped the dashboard, incredibly bored. "Can you believe it?" he asked no one in particular. "It's only autumn and it's already snowing in some areas."

Dean shrugged as he stared out at the open road. Beclyn made no move to acknowledge the statement from the backseat. They had been driving for less than three hours and already Sam was itching to take a break. He had tried I-spy games, conversations, humming tunes, daydreaming, sleeping, and reading, but nothing was as appealing as getting out of the cramped passenger seat of the Impala. Besides, Dean's swerving driving style was making him want to pee.

"Can we have a break?"

Dean took his eyes off the road to glance at his brother for a second. "We just had a break, Sam."

"No, we didn't," Sam whined. "It was ages ago. Can't we just have a pit-stop?"

"Why does this always happen?" Dean growled at him. "We're on the road for less than an hour..."

"_Three _hours."

"...and suddenly you're the biggest toddler the world has seen. Are you going to waste next year's birthday present on a pit-stop too?"

"Dean, it's one stop - it's not gonna kill you," Sam begged.

"Oh, where have I heard that line before? Remember Minnesota where you tried to use that line on me and I actually listened. We had to stop twelve times. _Twelve_."

Sam slouched back into his seat. He decided that riding in cars with older brothers should be made into the most annoying torture device ever.

_Stupid Dean, _Sam thought to himself. _Stupid Impala. Stupid road. Stupid..._

"Look, Sam, if you _really _need a break then we'll have a break, okay?" Dean offered.

Sam almost leapt from his seat, shocked. "Serious?"

"Serious."

"Then I vote we stop driving and find a place to stay until morning," Sam said with an _oh-so-innocent _imploring smile.

"What?" Dean choked. "Dude, we're not stopping for the rest of the day!"

"_Please_, Dean? _Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty please, with a cherry on top?"_

Dean's eye twitched. "We'll see," he hissed through his teeth, already knowing that Sam was going to use every single moment he ever had with Beclyn against him if he didn't.

Suddenly, a small town came into view. _'Come try one of Mama's tasty pies!_' a billboard stated in offensively bold, red writing.

"We can stop here," Sam suggested.

A smile itched at Dean's lips. "Yeah," he said simply, "maybe I can get me some pie."

- - -

Dean was quick to decide that the town looked like a drugged-up hippy's version of Kansas after watching the Wizard of Oz sixty times too many. For some odd reason, the painter of the wooden houses decided a beautiful shade of khaki green mixed with a delicate splatter of mauve red would make the best colour arrangement. Mix that with blueberry-looking flowers and the orange-paved pathways and perhaps it could become the next runner-up for the weirdest of weird town awards. Maybe it was just Dean's colour sense. Wiping his eyes, he approached the pie store with hope that a crusty pastry could make his mind right again. Sam shuffled distractedly behind him, probably as bemused as he was by the offensive colours.

"Come on, guys," Dean encouraged with a wide grin. "I wanna get my hands on one of those authentic steak pies with all the works and maybe even..."

"Wait one second!" Beclyn suddenly ordered angrily.

The boys faltered before glancing back at the irritated figure behind them. Neither one of them had realized she was upset - but then again, her mood swings were unpredictable. Dean's and Sam's eyebrows rose as Beclyn scrunched her fists into tight, little balls.

"I'm sick of eating take-out junk!" she snapped, her body incredibly tense.

Sam looked to Dean, and then glanced back at Beclyn. Both of their glances read '_is she being serious?' _

Both boys sucked in a careful breath when they realized how worked-up she was. She hadn't been this temperamental since Dean accidentally exposed the plan on the werewolf attack ages ago. Maybe it was her monthlies again...?

"I want to eat something real," Beclyn seethed. "I want to eat something that's not wrapped in fast-food paper, or out of a can, or comes in a cardboard box." She glared at them, her lips twitching dangerously as if ready to strike with a weapon. "I want to cook."

There was a long pause of silence before a dazed expression glazed Sam's face as he stammered, "You can cook?"

"I can damn well try," she hissed. "People are always cooking on TV. How hard can it be?"

Sam scratched his head absently. "Television's a bit different to the real world, Beclyn..."

"So what?" she challenged, then crossed her arms. "It'd be better than eating more take-out shit. If I wanna cook, let me cook."

Her glare fell squarely onto Dean. He stared back, wondering if she seriously was going to try to detract him from his pie. Finally, knowing that he wasn't going to win, his eyes remained expressionless as he muttered, "Fine. Do what you like." He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew his wallet. "I'll give you fifty," he told her, revealing a grimy fifty-dollar note.

Beclyn snatched it from his hand thanklessly.

"I want the change!" he called to her as she began to stomp away.

Chewing his lip, Sam waited until Beclyn was out of earshot before saying, "Do you really think she can cook?"

Dean shrugged. "It's better letting her cook than having her being homicidal for the rest of the afternoon."

A smile flickered across Sam's face. "She's like a spoilt toddler, isn't she?"

Dean's eye twitched. "Yeah, but so are you."

He had already walked into the pie shop before Sam could think of a reply.

- - -

The ingredients were lying out on the table as if a cooking show was about to start. Beclyn eyed each of the packaged products individually. Sam had helped her buy most of the ingredients. He was the one who had picked out the chilli, herbs, and rice. It was Dean who had wanted the garlic. She made her input by buying the fresh, raw fish and the two-litre tub of canola oil. She didn't know what everything was for - she just guessed that she'd figure it out along the way.

She pulled out a tray from inside the oven and placed it on the table. In the next room, she could hear Dean and Sam working away, cleaning their guns and knives. Beclyn decided that Dean was an obsessive-compulsive weapon cleaner. If he put that much effort into getting money, they wouldn't have to keep spending their nights in dodgy hotels.

Slapping the fish into the tray, she opened the canola oil and poured the greasy liquid until it was almost to the edge. Picking up other assorted food items, she pondered over what she should put in. Perhaps some rice...? No, herbs would be better. Rice had something to do with water. She opened the containers of mixed herbs and garlic, and then held them over the tray, making a massive mound of green and white until there was nothing left. Tossing the containers aside, she hesitated.

_Maybe I'm meant to take the packaging off the fish first...?_

* * *

_**Too tired to write... Can't think... Test tomorrow... So dead... -- kathunk --**_

_**Random stranger: --scratches head-- I think she's dead... **_

_**7 reviews and the next chappie's yours!**_


	34. Chapter 34

**I was talking to my Nana the other day when my sister gave me a red skittle. For a second, I thought she was the greatest, most amazing sister in the entire world. But then when I started to eat it, she burst into laughter. It was then I realized she had given me a chilli-flavoured skittle. Burnt the back out of my throat. I didn't even know they existed. I should put a sign in front of my house saying, 'Sister 4 Sale'. Any takers?**

**Warnings: Swearing, adult themes. **

**Disclaimer: I shall take them one day. Just you wait. At least Beclyn's mine. **

**Chapter 34**

Sam had been hanging next to the bedroom door cautiously for most of the two hours that he and his brother had been exiled from the kitchen. Intoxicating smells were seeping through the crack under the door, making his eyes water. He couldn't quite place the exact scents, but it reminded him of burnt plastic and sea salt.

"Do you think she's okay in there?" Sam anxiously asked for the hundredth time.

Dean didn't bother glancing up as he sighed and said, "She's only cooking. It's not like she's in an exam."

Choking on the sudden smothering waft of chilli, Sam mumbled, "It's a wonder she's still alive with all those herbs."

Dean sniffed loudly. "Better be worth me giving up my pie," he grumbled under his breath.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Beclyn stormed inside the bedroom. Her face and the front of her clothes were filthy from cooking. Her hair was a somewhat tangled disaster with flecks of salt and rice caked between the strands. Despite looking like something the cat had dragged in, she gave a rare smile and exclaimed, "Dinner's ready!"

Jumping from their seats, the boys put on encouraging smiles.

"I can't wait to eat," Sam lied nervously. He bit his lip to refrain from choking on the burning stench which was slowly wafting into the bedroom.

Dean charged past him, instantly taking a seat at the table with a knowing look of supremacy. "God, I wish I had a camera right now," he said with a grin. "I don't think I've ever seen Beclyn actually doing what a woman should do."

Trying to ignore Beclyn's scowl, Sam took his seat opposite his brother and waited for the meal. Feeling the heat from the oven as Beclyn retrieved the meals, he fidgeted compulsively. Beclyn quickly approached with two large plates of what looked like gluggy rice puddings. Picking up his fork, Sam licked his lips uncertainly.

Beclyn placed the dishes in front of the boys and then put her hands on her hips. "Well, then." She looked between them. "Eat up."

"I thought you cooked fish," Sam hesitantly asked.

"Oh, yeah," Beclyn answered with a shrug as she stood by with an unnervingly watchful glare. "It's underneath the rice."

"Oh." It was all Sam could say. He noticed that Dean hadn't picked up his fork either.

Dean glanced from his brother to the pile of white mushy stuff on his plate, and then back to his brother. "I think Sam wants first bite."

"_What_?" Sam exploded. He instantly halted as Beclyn's eyes narrowed. His brother was the biggest moronic dick in the universe - and that was an understatement.

Obeying, he picked up his fork and scooped up some rice. He tried not to gag as most of the rice fell off with a sick squish back onto the plate. He lifted the fork to his mouth and took a bite. He chewed for a second, wondering if it was too rude to cough. The rice didn't taste like rice as much as did like salt. "This is rice, right?" he asked for confirmation, keeping his face straight. Beclyn nodded.

At that point Dean grabbed his fork as well and began to shovel the rice into his mouth. Unlike Sam's attempt to remain polite, Dean choked and poked out his white-speckled tongue.

"Jesus, Beclyn!" he exclaimed. "Are you sure this is rice? It tastes like you've just poured in salt!"

So much for the obvious.

Beclyn's lips tightened, her gaze becoming frustrated. To try and ease the oncoming argument, Sam quickly dug around the rice until he found what looked to be a blackened piece of fish. Before the better part of his sanity could object, he plopped a slice into his mouth and chewed forcefully. At first, a rushing wave of senses overwhelmed his tastebuds. For a split second he thought the senses may actually be pleasant - that was until the chilli kicked in. It was either gag or choke to death, so he gagged and coughed with everything he had. He tried to gulp down the glass of water offered from his brother, he tried to apologize to Beclyn between every breath, but most of all, he tried to keep the tears of agonizing pain from running down his cheeks. He could almost picture tomorrow's news headline: _Madman locked in Insane Asylum After Tongue Burnt off by Chilli!_

When his tongue could finally roll back into his mouth and his eyes could stop watering at the mere thought of another mouthful, Sam put down his fork. He sat back in his chair and tried to even his breathing. Beclyn didn't allow him the comfort for long.

"So..." she drawled, "what did you think?"

The nerve-racking, painful silence which accompanied the question should have said it all, but for some reason Beclyn wanted a verbal answer.

"It was..." Sam started, trying to find a word that meant _'torturous and barbaric beyond belief'_ without sounding harsh, "..._interesting_."

"_Interesting...?_" Beclyn repeated, her face twisting into an unsure gaze.

Sam had to practically swallow every four-lettered word he could. If she wanted more description, she would get more description.

He sat back in his chair. "Interesting... Individual... Unique... Special..."

"_Disgusting_," Dean spat as he tossed his fork down.

"_Dean_!" Sam cried out, aghast at both his brother's reaction and Beclyn's pent-up rage about to be unleashed. He turned to Beclyn, gibbering. "It wasn't disgusting, Beclyn. It was different and..."

"There is nothing edible on this plate," Dean complained further. "The _plate_ is more edible than the damn meal! The rice isn't even rice - it's salt."

Beclyn's hands curled into fists. Her anger radiated around the room like a silent beacon of malevolence.

"It's like you're really trying to poison us," he continued. A teasing smile flickered over his lips. He made the mistake of closing his eyes. "One taste of this and you'd have all the paranormal creatures of the world begging for a merciful..."

The punch was swift, deliberate and was powerful enough to snap his neck. Dean opened his eyes and touched his reddening cheek, speechless.

Beclyn took a step back and crossed her arms, her eyes practically glowing in malicious fury. "Learn your place," she seethed, "before saying shit like that, you pathetic insect."

Dean's face screwed up into a tight, distasteful snarl. Sam sat back in his chair, defeated.

_So much for no arguing, _he thought bitterly.

On the other side of the table, Dean looked like he was going to burst from rage. After all, Sam knew that Dean didn't take well to being insulted - especially from Beclyn. He just hoped the screaming match would be swift and over before bedtime. Sam watched as Dean's fists began to shake. Dean's sour, '_you'd-better-say-your-last-prayers'_ glare glazed the older brother's features.

Stuff the screaming match, this was going to end in punches and gunshots.

Catapulting to his feet, Dean's eyes suddenly widened in absolute shock as what sounded like a shirt ripping came from his stomach. He stood still, his eyes becoming wide as Sam and Beclyn watched the warm blood begin to seep from his stomach. Sam raised an eyebrow. Trust Dean to tear his own stitches from homicidal rage.

Beclyn was the first to speak. Her arms remaining crossed, she turned away and hissed, "What an idiot."

Dean just stared at her, his fingers twitching. His mouth gaped open, as if trying to find the right word to put her down completely. Then the pain set in.

"Gaahhh..." he choked, suddenly realizing the burning sensation in his stomach. "Gaaahhh!"

He glared at them both, trying to keep his furious expression from fading. Sam slapped his own forehead. At least the argument was over. Then, not a second too soon, his older brother collapsed.

- - -

Although cooking had been an unpleasant experience, both for the cook and the tasters, Beclyn felt relieved to have had a few hours to herself in the kitchen. Not only did she prove she couldn't cook, she also proved that she could think about something other than Dean for the space of a few minutes. She was already having mixed feelings towards him, let alone having a hollow, clenching pain in her chest every time he tried to do something he should never do - like trying to win an argument by standing straight up from a dinner table when he had a massive stab wound in his stomach. Maybe it would save more time and concern if she just kicked him into oblivion instead of having to tend to his torn stitches every few minutes.

"What's the serious face for?" Dean asked her, trying to peek over her head to watch the television.

Beclyn faltered in re-applying the antiseptic. She began to trace the wound with her fingertips as she bit her lip. "I'm contemplating killing you."

Dean's eyebrow rose. "Is that all?"

Since the round of abuse over dinner, their argument had fizzled to petty death threats and irritating noises.

Her furious gaze snapped to his unconcerned stare. "How many times are you going to try and kill yourself?" she nagged. "It's bad enough trying to re-do these bandages every night without you making me have to re-stitch the entire thing every hour in between!"

With a shrug, Dean coyly commented, "Maybe it's just your bad stitching that keeps needing to be re-done."

"Well, it's really difficult to see what I'm doing when you're lying on the couch."

"Economize."

"You just make me want to kill you even more, you asshole!"

"Guys..." Sam groaned less than a foot away. He was leaning his back against the foot of the couch with one leg tucked underneath him and the other sprawled out on the carpet. "I'm trying to watch my show here..."

"Then tell your dick of a brother to stop annoying me."

Dean shifted slightly, almost ripping out all the stitches Beclyn had just sewn. He hissed at the pain, but suddenly realized he was going to suffer a lot worse when he saw Beclyn's maniac glare.

"What?" he asked in mock innocence.

"I only _just_ finished stitching that and now I've got to go back and do it all again!" she roared, obviously frustrated as she grabbed for another set of butterfly bandaids.

"It's not my fault." Dean pouted defensively. "I can't watch the show through your big, fat breasts." He didn't have time to shift as Beclyn smacked the first-aid box into his chest.

Standing quickly, Beclyn hurried to leave the room. "You can fix your own Goddamn stitches and make your own Goddamn meals," she spat nastily before slamming the door to the bedroom.

Dean stared disbelievingly at the empty space Beclyn used to fill. He glanced down at his stomach, instantly dismayed. Most of the stitches needed re-sewing, and without Beclyn, he was as defenceless as he was _with_ Beclyn.

He let out a massive string of curses before poking his stomach. Painful - not good. "Who's going to re-stitch these now?" he whined as he prodded the wound further like a little boy picking at a massive scab.

Sam sat motionless below his head.

"Hey, Sammy, do you think you could kinda..."

"No," Sam replied instantly.

Dean's jaw became slack. "Who else is here to do them apart from you?"

Sam shrugged. "Looks like you're just gonna have to apologize."

Scoffing slightly, Dean muttered, "Not in this lifetime."

With the slightest of a shrug, Sam stated, "Fine, but just to let you know, there's one bed in this hotel room - and I'm sure as hell not sharing the couch with _you_."

- - -

_Nearby_

The freezing wind rustled through the dead leaves as the yellow full moon glowed. The mansion sat peacefully within its own pocket of expansive land. It was the place people dared not venture into for the fear of being spooked by the rumoured ghosts. Cobwebs sat undisturbed, rust ate away at anything once used and dust covered the floor like a dirty blanket.

People would not venture near. People would not guess the plans being laid out. On such a particular night, not one person would hear the soft sound of a symphony playing a lonely tune in the ballroom, or the cheerfully laughing voices in the parlour, or the bangs and crashes of pots as food was prepared in the kitchen. But most of all, no one would bother the silver-eyed demon - all except for one.

She would come soon - he knew it. The mansion was too full of his scent for her to not come. A decade ago, the tracing of one's scent was all a game he and she could play for hours, their little game of hide and seek in the days when creatures of the night could be a little more than friends. Now, it was a game of hunter and hunted. Kill or be killed.

His trap was set. The mere thoughts of her screaming in absolute pain aroused him. His eyes flashed silver as he tried to suppress the pleasurable thoughts.

Not yet. He couldn't allow himself such simple pleasures until he saw the fear and dread in her cold, heartless eyes.

She was the prey. She was the chosen one alright - but for a new path.

She would come. Until then, he would be waiting.

- - -

Beclyn brushed her teeth for a few seconds on each side, and then spat a mouthful of sticky white toothpaste into the sink. Turning on the tap, she wet her hands before running them down her face. She left the tap running as she glared at herself in the mirror.

"This is crazy," she muttered to herself in the mirror. The reflection didn't say anything back. "You watched him die," she hissed, trying to keep her hands from shaking. "You led him out into the middle of the salt lake and watched him die. He's _dead_. He _can't _hurt you anymore."

Her eyes twitched slightly as if challenging the mirror to disagree with her. She still wasn't convinced that Jamison was gone. The bastard was still in her memories, and that's all she needed to keep herself awake at night. Beclyn had gone through every day dream she could imagine of getting her revenge in more subtle ways against him. She imagined herself picking up the fire-poker and smashing it into his head until his skull caved in, she saw him in the spiked restraints, stabbing him over and over again in the eyes with that knife he loved so much, she could hear his voice tearing itself up in agony as she set fire to his skin and tore off his flesh piece by piece... But then, when she would finally think she had a grasp on her nightmares, he would climb back from the grave in her imagination and take his revenge ten-fold. And Dean wondered why she couldn't sleep.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she realized how crappy she looked. Her skin was pale, her hair was messy and her eyes were slightly bloodshot. All in all, she was a mess, and there was no way she was climbing back into that nightmare without some reassurance first.

Turning off the tap, she made her way back into the bedroom. Dean was comfortably taking up his side of the bed, his hands tucked carefully under the pillow. In the end, he had eventually apologized - which Beclyn was thankful for. She knew that she needed the body to embrace if she became scared and he needed the bed. It was better to extinguish his masculinity and testosterone rather than her begging for a sleeping partner. She could have just asked Sam but that was gross. Sam was more like an annoying kid brother. Dean was... Dean.

Curling back up into bed, Beclyn felt Dean shift to wrap his arms around her. She liked it when he did that, although she'd never _ever_ admit it.

"Where'd you go?" he mumbled sleepily into her ear.

"To get a drink of water," she fibbed.

"Liar. What were you really doing?" He already knew the answer and she knew it.

"Just shut up and go back to sleep," she ordered softly. He pulled her closer.

"Hey, Beclyn...?" he started, breathing into her hair.

She wasn't in the mood. She wanted to sleep. "What?" she demanded.

He gave a slight chuckle. "I was just thinking how sexy you would look in school-girl uniform."

Oh, yes - Dean was definitely Dean.

**What did we all think? Is it getting too corny? Give me some hints! **

**May I please have some feedback? **


	35. Chapter 35

**I promised myself that I'd have this chapter out early. That's another broken promise to myself. This chapter was hard to write because everything just had to fit and no matter how many times I read it nothing seemed to. So now I've chucked myself into the deep end for the next chapter. Whoops. **

**Tell me what you think!**

**Warnings: This chapter rated T. Swearing, adult themes. **

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 35**

The darkness of night was already beginning to crawl across the grassy hills at five-thirty in the afternoon. With the night came the cold, numbing breeze which made the almost-naked branches scratch against the broken windows of the two-storey mansion.

The loud rumble of the Impala filled the air as it crept up the long, twisting driveway. The engine stopped as it drew near the front door. Sam and Beclyn climbed out of the car, surveying the mansion for a moment before approaching the weapon-packed trunk. Dean heaved himself from the front seat, hissing as his stitches tightened. He could already hear the guns being loaded and checked as Sam sorted through the necessities.

"You'll need this one," Sam told Beclyn as he passed a salt shotgun to her. "Oh, and take a few silver bullets - just in case."

Beclyn opened the barrel of the shotgun and checked everything was in order. Dean leant against the car, watching.

Sam dug deep into the car. "Take this as well," he ordered as he found some rosary beads. Before she could object, Sam had placed them around her neck. "Make sure you take an extra gun - no, wait - make that _two _guns, and you need an iron blade... I think we might have three of them in here somewhere..."

"Sam!" Beclyn sniped, looking impatient. "I only have two hands. What's the point of giving me sixty weapons?"

Biting his lip, Sam muttered defensively, "It was only eight things, not sixty..." He passed them to her anyway.

"Listen to her, Sam," Dean told him.

They both turned to him, surprised.

"Beclyn's told us she's done this loads of times. It's a simple check-in, check-out gig. It's the only reason she's doing it alone."

Beclyn gritted her teeth. "I'm not an invalid," she spat. "I can take care of myself. What's the ghost gonna do - slam a door in my face?"

Dean knew she was understating the situation for her benefit, but didn't say anything. "We need to keep up a stable communication scheme," he told her. "Check in every half hour so that we know you're okay."

"But the walkie-talkie batteries are basically dead," Sam pointed out at the same time Beclyn seethed, "I'd be better off if I didn't have to waste my time with _you_."

Casting them both an authoritative glare, Dean said, "Sam, give her your phone."

Beclyn's eyes narrowed.

Sam spluttered as he fished out his phone from his pocket. "Why do I have to give up my phone?" he growled, passing it to Beclyn. "Besides..."

Beclyn snatched it away from him before he could continue.

"Dean's number is on autodial," Sam told her. His eyebrow rose as Beclyn flipped the phone in her hands as if she had never used one in her life. "You might want to turn if off silent," Sam suggested sulkily while handing her a torch. Beclyn ignored him.

"So you got the rules?" Dean turned to Beclyn. "Check in every half hour, don't put yourself in too much of a compromising situation, and at the first sign of danger - leave."

Beclyn rolled her eyes in reply.

"Alright," Dean sighed. "Talk to you in half an hour."

Not waiting another second, Beclyn tore off towards the building. Sam waited until she was out of earshot before hissing, "What was that all about? You never let her do gigs alone and the phone thing...? They're main conductors of paranormal activity. We both know that cell phones are useless when around ghosts. Besides, has she even used a cell phone before?"

Dean folded his arms. "You think I'm not taking precautions?"

Sam glared at his brother. "So far I think you've done anything but follow the basic safety, let alone taking precautions."

Turning his wrist to check his watch, Dean said, "I'll give her another fifteen minutes..."

Sam faltered. "Fifteen minutes until what?"

"Fifteen minutes until we go in there and finish off the ghost ourselves, of course."

- - -

Dust swirled as the door opened. Several pieces of furniture were upturned and smashed around the entrance hall. Like many other haunted buildings Beclyn had explored, the mansion was impressive and spacious. Flicking on her torch, Beclyn surveyed the area, taking in every bit of detail. The walls had once been elaborate panels of intricately carved wood, but now they were just mouldy, damaged slabs of termite food. A half-hanging chandelier swayed in the breeze from outside, and a gentle tinkling sound filled the hall. A few of the chandelier's bulbs had already fallen, now just broken pieces of crystal over the tiles. There was a massive stone staircase leading to the second floor. Some of the steps had crumbled under serious weight while the rest were blanketed in dust.

Beclyn started to move to the next room but something on the stairs caught her eye. Swinging the shotgun around, she leant down to look at one of the steps. Footsteps were indented in the dust. They were very fresh, which meant that someone had been there only hours - maybe even minutes earlier. The footsteps didn't come back down the stairs, meaning the intruder had either found another way out or was still upstairs.

Pointing the shotgun ahead with one hand and the torch with the other, she began to ascend. Suddenly, something draped in black shot across the hall. Hearty male laughter filled the room for a second. Beclyn stopped and swished around. Silence met her ears as nothing stirred. Keeping her back turned, she cautiously continued to step up the staircase. All of her senses were on high alert in case anything moved. Suddenly, there was a loud _'MURR' _sound from her pocket. She was about to shoot herself in the leg when she realized it was the cell phone. Ripping the phone from her pocket, she glared at it. The word 'Dean' and a picture of a badly-drawn car were flashing on the cover screen. Flicking the phone open, she tentatively pressed the phone against her ear.

"Hello?" she asked into the phone.

"_I thought the deal was every thirty minutes,_" Dean's voice snarled on the other end.

Beclyn gave the phone the most thorough death-glare she could before she remembered Dean couldn't see it. "What are you talking about?" she snapped viciously.

"_You promised to call me every half an hour," _Dean answered with twice the venom.

"It's only been three minutes."

"_It's been thirty-six._"

Beclyn hissed, thoroughly annoyed at Dean's stupidity. "I only just got in the house, Dean. I can tell you now that..."

On the screen of the phone, a clock blinked at the top left-hand side.

_6:09 PM_.

Beclyn's eyes widened. If they had arrived at the mansion at just past five-thirty and she had entered the mansion just after that then that would mean... But where did the other half an hour go?

She pressed the phone back to her ear. "Dean, I swear I've only been in here six minutes - tops. Something's screwing around with the time."

Dean swore on the other end.

"_Get back to the car. We can do this gig another night when you've got us._"

"Don't be an asshole," Beclyn seethed. "I only just got here and nothing's happened yet..."

Something smashed and clattered on Dean's end of the line.

"Dean?" she hissed. No answer. "Dean, what the hell happened? Where are you?"

"_Huh? Nothing. Sam tripped over a log. Get back to the car - now._"

"No," Beclyn objected. She began walking back up the stairs. "I'll get a survey of the area, and then..."

She stopped. A woman was standing on the top of the stairs. Her pale face was deepened by the shadow cast over her eyes. She wore a dirty black and white maid outfit which was torn and frayed around the edges. Beclyn aimed the shotgun. The woman took off across the second floor as the first shot rang out.

Beclyn let out several curses as she tore off after her, frustrated as the rosary beads around her neck flung and hit her in the head. Reaching the top of the stairs, Beclyn glanced around in time to see something black dash into one of the rooms down the hall. Cursing again, she sprinted towards the room.

"_Beclyn?_" Dean's voice called from the phone speaker. "_What happened? Are you there? Beclyn, you'd better answer me this Goddamned minute!_"

Instead, Beclyn snapped the phone shut. She was about to enter the room when she realized how dark it was. Positioning her torch, she looked inside the room and had to suppress a gasp. There was a giant hole in the middle of the room. If Beclyn hadn't stopped to check the room, she would have plummeted to the first floor.

Beclyn walked into the room, steering clear of the hole. Running the torchlight over everything, she checked for any disturbances. A scratching sound followed by mumbling came from a closed door on the other side of the hole.

"_Sil...ice...eeds...iny..._"

Creeping around carefully, Beclyn listened as the mumbling grew louder as she approached the door.

"_Should be shiny... but match... dress... Maybe white..._"

As Beclyn drew closer, she realized the door led to the wardrobe. Between the horizontal slats in the door, she could see something dark darting around in the tiny closet-space. Balancing just on the edge of the hole, she tried to get a firm footing. Aiming the shotgun, Beclyn reached for the door handle.

"_Oh, this one's pretty, and it's black so it'll suit the dress... And it's so much shinier than the silver... What do you think?_"

The door suddenly burst open, knocking Beclyn back. For a second, Beclyn saw the ghost of the woman glaring at her from the wardrobe before she remembered the hole. She scrunched her eyes shut, waiting to fall onto the sharp splinters and broken objects on the floor below when she hit something soft with a thud. She was too startled to open her eyes.

"Oh, mah goodness!" someone cried out in a deep Western accent. "Ma'am...? Ma'am, are ya alrigh'?"

Beclyn opened her eyes slowly, and was almost blinded by the bright, golden light in the room. She tried not to choke as she saw the ghost above her; however she looked different. Instead of being pale and tatty like before, she was plump, had deep brown skin and dark brown eyes full of absolute horror.

"Ma'am, are ya okay?" she cried out again, reaching to help Beclyn. "I di'n't realize ya were standin' there! Are ya okay?"

Beclyn groaned and tried to stand. The woman quickly helped her to her feet before brushing her off. Glancing at the carpeted floor, Beclyn realized the hole was gone, along with the original interior of an abandoned room. Now, it was a beautifully decorated bedroom with a four-poster bed and a large dressing table to the side. A sharp pang of pain shot through Beclyn's head, and she almost lost her balance. Catching her, the woman guided her to the bed to sit on.

"Ma'am, are ya alrigh'? Should I get ya fiance?"

As Beclyn's vision of the room shifted, her eyes settled upon the maid in front of her. She didn't look older than fifteen. "Where am I?" Beclyn asked.

The girl blinked before crossing her arms. "Ya in ya room."

Staring at her, Beclyn frowned. "My room?"

"That's righ'," the girl said with a smile. "And ya'd better be ready soon or else I'd be the one in the trouble. Ya were mean' to be ready fa' the party half an hour ago."

In the mirror of the dressing table, Beclyn had to swallow deeply when she saw that she was wearing a long, black dress with silk folds and only two strings over her shoulders to hold it up. The soft, harmonious sound of a violin symphony seeped through the crack in the bedroom door. Standing, Beclyn ignored the cries of protest from the maid as she made her way to the door and opened it. She was instantly met by a brightly-lit hall, along with the loud music of the violin symphony and the laughing voices of several people on the floor below. Taking a tentative step towards the banister, she glanced down to see at least a hundred people in dark tuxedos and luxurious ball gowns as they danced, laughed, talked and drank. Looking over the people, she could barely keep her shaking knees upright.

_Where did all these people come from?_

Suddenly, a loud, screeching, "Oh, my _GAWD_!" filled her ears, followed by what felt like a brick wall hurtling into her side.

Beclyn flinched and gazed at the blonde-haired, giggling girl hugging her.

"This is the _BEST _party!" the girl exclaimed, almost dropping the champagne glass as she waved her hand over the crowd. "I can't believe that your father-in-law would go to all this trouble!"

Staring at the girl as if she were plague-infested being, Beclyn suddenly realized who the tipsy blonde was. But it was impossible... She knew for a fact that her cousin was dead.

"Sarah?" she gasped.

Sarah let out a loud hiccup and burst into a fit of high-pitched giggles. Her offensively-yellow dress was caught up around her knees. She dropped an arm around Beclyn's shoulders and led her to the stairs. "This party is the best!" she repeated a little bit too loudly. "The guys are _soo_ gorgeous and have all the right trimmings - if you know what I mean," she stated with a wink.

Beclyn turned to look out back over the crowd to try and find Dean and Sam but was almost thrown off balance as Sarah pulled her into a bone-crushing, full-bodied hug.

"I can't believe it!" Sarah wailed, her cheeks flushing crimson with the alcohol. "My little cousin is all grown up and marrying the hottest stud I've ever met! Why is it that you _always _get _all_ the luck!" Feigning a mournful sob, Sarah shrieked, "And he just happens to be the richest bastard and you had to come along and _marry _him - talk about _unfair_!"

Beclyn's eyes widened as Sarah placed her hands firmly on her shoulders and said, "Now you just gotta remember one thing - you _have to_ share, understood?"

Blinking, Beclyn muttered, "Whatever."

The hands digging into her shoulders tightened as Sarah carefully looked over Beclyn's body. Beclyn felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment and her anger snap into attention.

"What?" she hissed.

"I've just realized something," Sarah gasped, her expression horrified. "You're wearing a better dress than me!"

Beclyn's eyes narrowed. She no longer cared if she was somehow staring at the full-bodied being of her dead cousin - it was no wonder she had died if she acted like this normally. "You know, Sarah," she said, trying to take the champagne glass from her cousin's hand. "I think you've had a bit too much to drink..."

"Oh, look!" Sarah suddenly exclaimed. "There's Mummy and Daddy!"

Beclyn shifted her gaze to meet where was pointing. Sure enough, Karla and Bradley Smithfield were standing uneasily by a large set of potted palm trees, nervously sipping champagne. Sarah waved madly at them to which they waved slightly back.

"Look at Daddy," she giggled. "He's already tipsy from the drinks. Trust him to drink too much..."

Beclyn had stopped walking. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. She broke away from Sarah and hesitantly began to push her way through the dancing couples, intent on only one thing. She was so sure she had seen them... So sure that they had been there... She just hoped that it hadn't been some trick of the light or mind. Suddenly, she was standing in front of a couple. Beclyn's heart pounded hard against her ribcage as the couple met her gaze. They both smiled warmly at her, making her heart pound harder.

"M-Mum...? Dad...?"

The woman smiled. Beclyn could barely believe the resemblance. The only memory she ever had of her parents was of the car-crash when she was three. Her mother still had beautiful, dark, medium-length hair which was shaped nicely around her shoulders. Her father had a cleanly shaved face with a brilliantly white smile.

"Beclyn, darling," her mother said softly, "you're all grown up."

Blinking, Beclyn felt her eyes water.

"I can't believe you're getting married!" her father said with a laugh. His face beamed as he approached her and pulled her into a hug. Beclyn rested her head on his shoulder. She refused to cry. There was no way in the world she would cry over something so small. Her parents may have been back from the dead, along with her cousin and relatives, but until she understood what was going on she refused to shed a tear.

"You couldn't have picked a better husband," her mother continued, smiling. "I'm so proud that my daughter's getting married to a handsome doctor."

Beclyn's father pulled away from the hug. For a second, Beclyn forgot where she was and how everything happened to be. For the first time she could remember, Beclyn was wearing a large, joyful grin.

"Ah," her father sighed with a laugh. "Speak of the devil!"

Still grinning, Beclyn turned. Suddenly, she screamed.

_Water engulfing the lungs. Kicking, screaming. Feeling the hands push down. Feeling the snapping of fingers being twisted and broken. The handcuffs slicing the flesh. Ripping off the shirt. Cutting open the stomach. Feeling the spiked sheath enter with a thrust. Being torn from the inside. So much blood... Too much blood... So much pain... And the feral smile as he did it all. _

Beclyn couldn't stop screaming as she leapt back and collided with something hard.

_Can't believe it... Can't be true... I killed him... Just a nightmare... Has to be a nightmare..._

"Hello, Beclyn," Jamison said.

Then it all went black.

**I had to do a bit of research for this chapter. A friend of mine read it and pointed out that phones don't make noise when they're on silent - but the thing is, mine does. So I asked people to show me their phones and basically the results were half made noise and the other half didn't. I based Sam's cellphone sound on one of my friend's mobiles. Her phone on silent sounds like a cow being beaten to death while in labour. Therefore, the 'MURR' sound. **

**Hoped you enjoyed the chapter now that Jamison's back! **

**Please give me some feedback!  
**


	36. Chapter 36

**--ducks flying tomatoes-- Hey, I told you I was going to be traveling, didn't I? --shrieks as mob crash-tackles to death-- **

**So I wrote this chapter it got the go-ahead. Let's see what minds I can corrupt today....**

**Warning: swearing, adult themes, violence (but we wouldn't have it any other way)**

**Deadly Betrayal**

**

* * *

  
**

**Chapter 36**

Pain slammed through Beclyn's head as she crashed back into the cheese-platter table. Several china plates smashed to the ground as the darkness swarmed across her eyes, then cleared, revealing the face of her nightmare hovering mere inches above her face.

"_Get away!_" she instantly screamed and lashed out with her arm. Jamison caught her limb easily. Waiting for the spine-crawling sound of a bone breaking in retaliation, Beclyn scrunched her eyes shut and held her breath.

"Somebody get me a seat for her!" she heard someone order. A hand pressed against her forehead while another snaked around her waist. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

Beclyn opened her eyes. Blood pounded in her ears as she stared into her worst nightmare's face. Every single guest at the party was staring at her, but that wasn't her problem. It was the man guiding her that sent her mind flying into a panic. She had never seen him in a suit, or with combed hair, or with a concerned expression or looking nearly twice as handsome as any other man in the room - but that didn't change who he was or what he had done in the past.

"_Let go of me,_"she screeched, giving him a hard shove.

At first, his expression was confused, but then it eased into a grin.

"Looks like she's okay," he told the gawking crowd.

With a few relieved mutterings, the on-lookers gave a short round of applause, as if what they had just seen was meant to be entertainment, and went back to their champagne and endless chatter. Reaching back to the table, Beclyn grabbed the first knife she could find and hid it in the folds of her dress before Jamison swivelled, turning back to her.

"You scared me," Jamison confessed, his eyes radiating concern. "I told Dad that you hate large crowds and that you can't stand parties, but he insisted on organizing this thing and said that an engagement should only come once in a lifetime..."

Glancing back, Beclyn felt helpless as her parents conversed with another group. Suddenly, she blinked.

"Your father?" she repeated, trying to keep as much physical distance between her and the maniac as possible.

Jamison stopped and moved his hands to place them on her shoulders. Beclyn was certain he was about to snap her neck before he said, "Now I know it can be a bit overwhelming with the party and all, but make sure to be nice to him, okay? He paid for all of this and is dying to see you."

"Goodness me, son, you make me sound like a saint," a voice interrupted him.

Beclyn felt a hand grab her shoulder tightly from behind. She swished around and felt the entire floor tilt. She had never seen the dark-haired man before but something about him screamed familiar and lethal. If there was anything she wanted to do at that moment, it was to get the hell out of there.

"Dad!" Jamison exclaimed, a grin filling his features.

Trying not to stare, Beclyn wondered how old his father was. He didn't look a day over thirty, but if Jamison was his son, then...

"So this is the blushing bride-to-be," Jamison's father commented. Beclyn swore his eyes changed to silver for a second. Although he was incredibly handsome and the perfect example of a wealthy gentleman in his expensive black suit, Beclyn felt that she'd rather be standing next to a leper. He seemed feral, highly unstable, but intriguing - like a mushroom cloud above a bomb site.

"She looks beautiful," Jamison complimented, taking her hand in an affectionate embrace.

"Now, now, son. I really don't think 'beautiful' is quite the word." the older man scolded lightly. After a second of tense silence, he added, "I think 'stunning' would sum it up nicely."

Although the statement was meant to be a compliment, Beclyn noticed the twitch in the older man's face. Suddenly, he clapped his hands together.

"Well, it is truly wonderful to see that my son has finally found his soul-mate," Jamison's father said.

Beclyn definitely heard the scowling undertone in the father's voice, however his son didn't seem to as he tipped his head in a thank you.

Letting go of Beclyn's hand, Jamison gave a charming smile and said, "Darling, you look parched. Let me get you some champagne."

The last thing she wanted at that moment was to be left alone with the other man - even if her only other choice was Jamison, but before Beclyn could object, his father added, "I wouldn't mind a glass, either - if you could be so generous."

With a nod, Jamison disappeared, leaving them together. Beclyn didn't wait for the awkward silence.

"So I guess you're going to interrogate me now about how your son's treating me and if I'm enjoying this whole party?" Beclyn quickly asked.

A smirk teased at the corner of the man's lips as he walked to the banister of the courtyard and sat. With a gesture of his hand, he invited her to sit with him.

"'Parties' are for commoners, my dear - this is merely a social gathering," he corrected her once she sat. "But on that note, I do hope you are enjoying it."

"Couldn't have been anymore of a surprise," Beclyn stated, knowing how true that statement was. She glanced around momentarily, searching for Sam or Dean.

The man's eyebrow rose. "Expecting company?"

Beclyn's head snapped back. "No," she answered too quickly. "Why would I expect company?"

The eyebrow arched further. "It was you who was checking - not me."

Giving him her most gracious smile, Beclyn said, "I suppose it was just the knock against the table earlier that's making me dizzy."

Only a fool wouldn't have noticed the sudden twitch under the man's eye.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine!" Beclyn laughed, feeling more claustrophobic by the second. The situation was becoming more alien to her every moment which passed. She just hoped that there was still some way to get back to Sam and Dean. She had to try and keep her composure until that time came.

Smoothing a few creases out of her dress, Beclyn smiled warmly and said, "So... Tell me more about what you do."

- - -

_You stupid fucking whore of a bitch_, the silver-eyed demon swore violently within his mind.

He was looking at the traitor - the human he wanted to kill most. He had sworn he knew her like nobody else. She was the harsh, sadistic, cruel bitch who had slaughtered thousands without a second thought. He had never seen anything in her eyes but cold hatred and there was never a time where she had smiled in order to show her pleasure, but now... Was this really the same person in front of him?

"Well, I do many things," he said, gritting his teeth. He knew that the anger within him was making his face twitch. "But never mind that, tell me how you met my son."

Her eyes darkened. For one short, rage-filled moment, he wished she'd tell the truth, that she'd been raped, tortured to within inches of her life, and confess to destroying his murderous creature of a son out on those salt lakes. He wanted her to fuel his malicious hatred towards her, so he could finish what his son hadn't been able to accomplish.

The darkness in her eyes subsided. "It was like a dream," she explained. "One minute I was alone and the next, he's there."

She let out a laugh which made the demon's spine crawl. To hear her laughing, even if she was nervous, was enough to make him sick. Where the fuck was that creature with those champagne glasses?

"I'm glad." He tried to make it sound charming and delicate, but it came out cold and sneering. He quickly averted his eyes, trying to regain control of his emotions. Beclyn's dress moved slightly, and he saw a glint of silver. His heart almost stopped, but then began to beat faster with adrenaline. So this was his Beclyn after all.

Smiling courteously, he leant forward and stroked her face. Her smile dropped as his fingers touched her cheek and trailed down to her chin. It was arousing to see her caught off-guard so easily. It was almost too much for him to keep his eyes from going silver as his delicate touch moved down towards her chest. She began to struggle so he clamped his fingers down on the neckline of her dress.

"What are you doing...?" she began, but stopped when her eyes met his face.

"Oh, darling," he sighed, licking his lips. His fingernails were clenched so tightly that the dress began to rip. He leaned across until his lips were only an inch from her ear. He couldn't help his eyes from morphing colour as he felt the shiver of fear run up her body. Once upon a time he had wanted to fuck her, and for her to fuck him back. "Did you really think you could kill me with that knife?"

It was reflexes which saved him from having his throat cut as she whipped the knife across where his neck had been only a moment earlier.

Leaping back, he chuckled loudly. She was already to her feet, the knife poised for another attack.

"Honestly, if you can't even get a mark on me, how are you going to kill me?" he sneered, immensely overjoyed by making Beclyn show her true, murderous self.

It was his turn to be caught off-guard as she suddenly smirked.

"What makes you think I missed?" she asked tauntingly.

Something hot and wet trickled down the sleeve of his suit. Risking a glance, he saw the deep cut embedded in his left shoulder. He heard the footsteps as she ran past him into the dance hall. A spiteful grin covered his lips when he heard her gasp. He turned to see everyone in the dance hall glaring at her. Jamison was at the head of the crowd, no longer a sweet gentleman but a monster craving the kill. At the click of his fingers, he could get them all to tear her apart. But no, he wanted to enjoy this.

"Jamison, grab her."

Reaching out and trapping her in his arms, Jamison snarled, trying to enclose his pointy teeth over her neck. Beclyn screamed and struggled.

"Do you recognize my son now?" the silver-eyed demon purred.

He stepped forward and grabbed her hair, yanking her head to the side. The monster holding her snapped at her neck and shoulder blade. His fingernails dug into her skin. Blood trickled past her shoulders to the floor.

The silver-eyed demon tugged harder at her hair, making her wince. He ran the other hand down her cheek.

"It was so arousing to watch him tear you apart the first time," he told her, his voice not raising above a whisper. "I watched as he cut you up, tried to drown you, beat you and rape you. I saw that desperate suicidal look in your eyes. You didn't want to live any longer. So tell me..." He stroked her lips lightly. "... why didn't you die the first time?"

"Because I was here, you asshole!"

A gunshot tore through the hall and implanted itself into Jamison's back. Beclyn fell forwards as the image of Jamison faded into dust on the floor.

"NO!" the silver-eyed demon shouted, watching the illusion of the party and security fall apart.

Another gunshot rang out, and this time, the silver-eyed demon felt the pain tear up his own chest. Looking down, he saw the blood gushing from the bullet wound. Turning his head, he glanced up to see a young man holding a gun. Feeling another two bullets slam into his body, he let out a roar and then burst into flames.

- - -

_One hour later. Motel._

"We can't just change our plans, Beclyn!" Dean argued for the millionth time. "We're looking for the demon that killed Mum and Jess - not fighting a demon that's already dead."

"I don't think he's dead," Beclyn pointed out.

"He seemed pretty dead to me when I shot him three times."

"Then why couldn't we find his body?"

"Can't we just stick to the original plan? The yellow-eyed demon is the one we're after."

"I have bigger problems at the moment," Beclyn snarled, angered by Dean's dismissal of the issue. "This guy was tough, Dean. Bigger than Jamison and stronger than anything you've been up against."

Packing his duffel bag, Dean scowled, "If he was really that strong then why did he have trouble killing you?"

Beclyn crossed her arms and demanded, "What - am I some sort of a measuring device to you?"

Dean rolled his eyes and turned away, knowing what was coming next.

"How is it that I can do more than you _ever_ will and I'm still considered the weakest?" she spat. When Dean didn't answer, she continued, "Is this some sort of a fucked-up testosterone-fuelled competition between you and your masculinity, or is this your way of saying I'm not good enough to do the job?"

Dean turned around, shaking his head. "Beclyn..."

"I'm sick and tired of this bullshit," she whispered menacingly so that only Dean could hear it and not Sam in the next room. "How is it that you can be intimate and think that you can hold a relationship while still saying that I am less than you. It's so pathetic that you..."

Suddenly, he was holding her in his arms and kissing her in a bold, defiant move. She struggled for a few seconds before realizing he had her arms and legs pinned against the wall. Dean held onto the kiss for several tedious moments before pulling away.

"I'm not saying that you're weak," he explained himself, looking flustered as he still held her pegged against the wall. "I'm not under-estimating this guy either. Hell, if he's as strong as you say then there's nothing to stop this dude from coming in here all Terminator-like and taking what he wants." His eyes watered slightly as he looked at her. "Right now we don't know what he wants but I'm betting it's something you've got. And, Beclyn..." He moved his hand and softly took her chin in his fingers, their lips almost touching. "Honestly... It'd kill me to lose you right now."

He went to kiss her again but he faltered when Beclyn snapped, "Don't get me wrong when I say this and I know you're having a deep moment of epiphany here, but if you kiss me one more time without my permission, I'll honestly bite your tongue out of your skull."

Dean smiled slightly and asked, "Does that mean I'm forgiven?"

"Not even close," she answered, trying to brush him off even though his arms were staying firm. She frowned as a smirk traced his lips.

"Have I ever told you that you look incredibly sexy when you're angry?" he teased while his eyes roved over her pinned body.

"And you think this is going to stop me being angry at you how?" she seethed despite the fact that the flame behind her anger had diminished.

"I dunno about that," Dean mused, moving closer to her ear, "but I say that you'll be more than forgiving once I get you, a bed, a bottle of tequila and fourteen orgasms..."

"What are you guys doing?" a voice interrupted from the doorway.

Dean instantly stopped and flung himself off Beclyn when he saw Sam standing less than a metre away with an amused expression on his face.

"Am I... interrupting something?" Sam asked, looking suspiciously between a humiliated Dean and a scarlet-faced Beclyn.

"Ever heard of knocking?" Dean spat, trying to scramble up some grace.

Sam threw one more curious glance between them before saying, "I was just coming in to tell you that we'd better head out before it hits day-break or else we're gonna be hitting the traffic jams on the highway..." He stopped as Dean's cell phone roared out a long guitar riff.

"Oh, sorry," Dean excused himself as he fished in his pocket for the phone.

Sam used the distraction to talk to Beclyn. "You feeling okay?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion at her red cheeks.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, avoiding his eye as she tried to straighten her clothes.

"Alright, then, we'd better start heading off," Sam sighed. Turning to his brother, he was about to continue but faltered when he saw the serious glaze over his brother's face. "Dean, what's wrong?" he quickly demanded.

Dean tapped his phone and muttered, "It's a text... co-ordinates."

Sam's eyebrow raised. "Co-ordinates? From who?"

Dean's face was pale as he slowly looked up. "Dad."

* * *

**If you like it and you know it clap your hands --clap, clap--**

**Or just review. Or... if you're a rich, hott guy - drop me a line or some cash... **

**--sigh-- I can dream, can't I?**


	37. Chapter 37

**Deadly Betrayal**

**I've broken my own record! This chapter is up already?! Wow. I deserve a freaking round of applause --tomato hits face--. This chapter has a story behind it. Because my last chapter was so late, I told my beta that I'd make her happy by putting in a porn plot (sex scene). She didn't quite get the fact that I was joking so I sent it to her last night and I got it back with a message saying, "Bitch, where's my sex scene? It's not a fanfic without a sex scene!!" **

**And then she ignored me for the rest of the night. **

**Yes, fangirls and fanboys, my beta is a sex fiend. **

**Warning: mild sex scene (Beta: Soooo not good enough, Rebecca. --insert blah-blahing here--), swearing**

**Chapter 37**

It had been eight hours since they'd started driving and not one person had spoken a word. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, Dean tried to convince himself that the overwhelmingly tense silence in the car was not because of his father's text or the event of last night. Sure, he had tried to start a conversation but the replies were mainly huffs, growls or 'uh-huhs'. Besides, with every time he tried to bring some life to the other occupants of the Impala, the tension between them had intensified ten-fold. At that moment, the tension was so thick that he had to try hard not to choke as it strangled him. It was time to sort it out.

"Alright," Dean snapped finally. "One at a time, tell me why you're both pissed at me."

Neither answered.

"Are we going to have to do this the hard way?" Dean threatened, tossing a glance to his brother.

Beclyn let out a long, tired sigh. "We should be back there, hunting the other demon."

"I've explained this, Beclyn..." Dean started, warning in his tone.

"How many demons to you know with flashing eyes, Dean?" she spat back.

Dean clamped his hands firmly on the wheel to keep from yelling. "We can only take care of one at a time."

"Oh, so yours wins by default?"

"We've been chasing this one longer, so stop whining."

"Again with the time-factor."

Dean was about to say something back, but instead Sam muttered, "Why are we following a text?"

"Oh, not you, too," Dean groaned.

"No, I mean it, Dean!" Sam cried out angrily. "What, Dad just sends us one text and we have to drop everything we're doing so that we can do his gig?"

"Dad wouldn't do that to us, Sam."

"What if we get there and he's not around? What if he's only making us do something because he doesn't have the time to do it?"

"Sam..."

"No, Dean! Almost a year and not one word until now?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Maybe he's caught scent of the yellow-eyed demon..."

"Well, we _know_ where the silver-eyed demon is," Beclyn pointed out from the backseat.

"Shut up, Beclyn," Dean warned.

Sam crossed his arms and mumbled, "You don't have to be Dad's little soldier."

"Don't you start..."

"You're always following after him as if he knows everything," Sam stated. "Sure, he may have taught us everything we know about hunting this stuff, but the man got up and left us!"

Dean clenched the steering wheel. "He left _me_, Sam. You had already gone, remember?" he harshly whispered under his breath.

"I left because of him, Dean!" Sam defended himself.

"Look, I'm sorry I even asked!" Dean shouted, feeling a vein pulse in his forehead.

It was already going to be a long, silent hour and a half drive to the next town without having a headache to top it off.

- - -

Dean sat at the desk, looking at the co-ordinates on his phone while searching for them on a map sprawled out in front of him. He knew it was close to midnight and that he should get some sleep, but he had to get the route sorted for the morning or else Sam would complain about how they'd be there on time if he could drive for once. What was supposed to be an hour and a half drive from the last pit-stop had actually stretched out to be two hours after Dean had accidentally missed the last turn-off. Sam's nagging wasn't exactly something he wanted to endure again.

Checking the clock once again, he reminded himself that he was the only one still awake in the hotel. Sam had been more than eager to fall asleep when he found out that he'd be getting his own bedroom for the night, and Beclyn had gone for a short walk after pestering Dean for money. His eyesight blurred as he stared at the fluorescent numbers on the clock. He wondered if he should go search for Beclyn, but decided against it. All he needed was another rant about equivalency between the sexes.

Going back to the map, he heard the bedroom door open quietly and footsteps approach the table. Dean had only a split-second to snap his hand away from the map as a bottle slammed on the desk. He looked at it for a second before looking up to the girl who put it there.

"Tequila?" he read the label, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, have you already forgotten?" Beclyn inquired, her voice dripping with pure sin. "I do believe that last night you promised you'd get me a bed, a bottle of tequila and fourteen orgasms."

Dean's eyes widened. "Oh," he said blankly. "_That_ promise..."

Beclyn leant down and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was his turn to be pinned as she nipped gently at his lips. "You're not going back on a promise are you? I might still be angry."

Barely keeping the amused grin from his face, Dean smiled and muttered, "It all depends..."

Beclyn's eyes glinted in curiosity. "On what?"

Dean leaned forward until his lips brushed the outside of her ear. "How quickly I can undress you."

- - -

At half-past midnight, something woke Sam suddenly. His tired eyes stared up at the ceiling. He wasn't sure what woke him. He knew it couldn't have been a nightmare. He had just been dreaming about going to the circus. Maybe there had been a clown. Those fugly things always popped up everywhere.

Letting out a loud yawn, he moved to his side and curled up, ready to go back to sleep. His eyes were getting droopy when a sudden bang on the other side of the wall behind his head startled him awake. He sat up and blinked, confused. Suddenly, his expression changed to annoyance.

"Damn neighbours," he hissed. "Can't keep it in their freaking pants."

Once again lying down to go back to sleep, Sam closed his eyes. They were closed for twenty seconds before Sam shot back out of bed. He hadn't remembered it before, but the only room on the other side of the wall was Beclyn and Dean's room. As if to confirm it, a set of gasps followed by moans erupted from the other side. Sam's eyes widened.

"No way," he told himself. "No way in the world could they..."

Suddenly, he was all too acutely aware of what was going on next door.

As great it was to know that he had been right all along about their relationship, Sam didn't really want to listen to his brother copulating with Beclyn.

Lying down gently, Sam decided to just let them be and pretend he hadn't heard anything. That was until the first set of images popped into his mind.

"Oh, my God!" he hissed in a whisper, feeling dirty and disgusted. "Oh... Yuck."

Suddenly all those stories Dean had shared about his nightly experiences with random girls were a little bit too close for comfort.

"Please, God," Sam prayed. "If you get these images out of my head, I will go to church this Sunday."

Another bang from the wall.

Sam waited thirty seconds before snapping, "I said _please_!"

More gasps.

"Fine," Sam growled. "They'll be done in about ten minutes. I can wait until then."

It was three hours before the room finally quietened down.

- - -

The next morning, Dean stretched with a giant yawn as he lay on the bed. He looked down for a second to see that he was still in his very exposing birthday suit. He flinched as his hand nudged bare skin. Turning his head slightly, he saw a naked Beclyn wrapped up in all of the blankets.

"Oh, yeah..." he said, finally remembering last night with a grin.

He rolled over and wrapped an arm around her waist. She obliged by shuffling the blankets slightly.

"Morning, Beclyn," he whispered into her ear, kissing her hair.

She remained silent for a second, and then, "...Coffee."

He smiled, gave her another kiss, and climbed to his feet to get dressed. When he opened the door to the kitchen, he found his brother already at the kitchen table, tightly grasping a coffee mug.

"Morn'n, Sammy," he greeted with a nod while taking a mug off the bench. He hesitated when there was no reply from his bother. "Have a good sleep?" he pursued, pouring some already made coffee for himself.

Sam shifted slightly but said nothing.

Frowning, Dean tried to lighten the mood. "I dunno about you, but I had the best sleep I've had in ages!"

Suddenly turning around, Dean almost dropped the mug when he saw how pale Sam's face was and how blood-shot his eyes were.

"Sammy, you feeling okay?"

Clenching his fist, Sam turned his back to Dean. "Fine," he snapped harshly.

"Did you have a nightmare or something?" Dean asked. Sam ignored him. Taking a swig of coffee from the mug, Dean sighed. "You should've come and woken me up if you had a nightmare, Sam."

He looked up to see Sam facing him again, the angry glare still plastered on his face. "I don't think you could've been _'woken up'_ anymore than you already were with all those moans last night."

Dean choked on his coffee. "_What_?" he spluttered.

Beclyn appeared in the doorway. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were dishevelled, but apart from that she seemed quite content.

"Morning, Sam." She nodded to the now hunched sitting figure.

Sam didn't reply.

Shrugging, Beclyn took the mug from Dean's hands before he could take another sip so she could take one for herself.

"You should hear what Sam's saying this morning," Dean exclaimed nervously.

Beclyn raised an eyebrow and went for another sip.

Dean licked his lips anxiously and let out a choked laugh as he said, "He thinks that we..."

He stopped when he saw two glares hit him squarely in the face.

Looking down at the coffee mug in her hands, Beclyn hissed, "This is too bitter."

Suddenly, she walked to the sink and poured the coffee down the drain before slamming the mug back on the bench.

"Hey!" Dean cried out. "That was mine!"

"There wasn't enough sugar in it," she pointed out.

"I like my coffee bitter, and besides, you could've put more sugar in it!"

"You didn't have the courtesy to make me one, did you?"

Dean glowered at her. "Oh, I think it's a good thing I didn't make you a coffee," Dean told her smugly. "I mean, all that sugar's going to make you fat."

A very long, tense silence filled the room before Beclyn stormed off to the bedroom and slammed the door.

"How could you possibly think I could sleep with _that_?" Dean gestured to the closed door.

Sam frowned, then sipped his coffee. "You have a point," he finally mumbled grudgingly.

"I'd better go make sure she's not destroying all my stuff," Dean sighed, opening the bedroom door and slipping inside.

The moment the door closed, he was on his guard for any flying knives or other thrown sharp, pointy objects.

"Beclyn?" he called to her quietly. He was about to check the bathroom when he saw her gloomily sitting in the shadows on the bed. "There you are..." he said, relieved. He began to walk over to her, but stopped. "Just to get this straight... That whole argument out there was just to get Sam off our backs, right?"

No reply.

"Beclyn?"

"_You called me fat_."

The words sent a chill up Dean's spine.

"I did not call you fat," he explained. "I said that you would get fat. There's a difference."

"The insinuation is the same."

"No, it's..." Dean had to clamp down on his temper. Trust females to take a single word, flip it around a bit and make an argument out of it. He crossed the room and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. "I only said those things in the spur of the moment."

More silence.

Dean frowned and sighed. "Is there anything I can get you to make you feel better?"

Silence, and then, "Coffee. Six sugars."

Dean rolled his eyes. All that sugar really wasgoing to make her gain weight. "Fine..."

"And chocolate."

Turning to stare at her, he raised an eyebrow. "Chocolate?"

"You know... The small, colourful thingies."

There went his M&M rations for another week.

- - -

**And it's done! I only have a few more chapters to go --cries--. I should have them done soon --cough-- maybe seven years. **

**I can't believe that people called my last chapter short. I have trouble reading chapters which are over two pages long. **

**Question: How long do you want the chapters to be? At the moment they're five - six pages long. Shorter or longer, people?**

**Oh, and I also have a lovely little reviewer who keeps on trying to guess the plot of the next chapter. My beta and I have a bet going as to whether or not they're getting it right. They almost got it completely right once. I don't know if that's a good thing for me... Keep doing it! It's just that extra side of joy for me and my beta (yes, we have no lives). **

**I don't update unless I get a certain amount of reviews. No, I won't tell you how many that has to be. You've just got to try and meet the number. Just to make things tricky for you. Because I'm mean --dodges tomato-- HA! --gets hit by a thousand tomatoes--**


	38. Chapter 38

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Another week, another chapter. I've been slacking off a bit. My hands hurt. My head hurts. My brain is eating me. Please take pity and give me payment in the form of chocolate. My beta and I have been scoffing Valentine's Day chocolate for the last day and a half. Funnily enough, we bought it ourselves. Yes, girls, our boyfriends have no idea how to be romantic. I've officially replaced Valentine's Day with My Bloody Valentine's Day because I get to go see Jensen in his new movie! --fangirls-- Oh, and for those die-hard Final Fantasy fans, for the last four years Valentine's Day has been Vincent Day. That has been your useless knowledge for the day. **

**Warning: adult themes, swearing, violence. Honestly, who even reads this? If it didn't have sex, violence, swearing and the naked Winchesters then I wouldn't even read it and it's my bloody fanfic.**

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**Chapter 38**

_6:42 PM_

"This is _soo _boring!" Petrie groaned, laying her head on the bar table. She shook her head slightly, messing up her blonde, curly hair.

"You're kind of on the job, you know," her older sister scowled, nudging the blonde off the table.

"So?"

"So don't let Mum see you nagging your way through your shift," the older girl sighed as she brushed a strand of blue-black hair from her forehead. "Why don't you serve people for once?"

Petrie laid her head back on the table. "Because there's no one to serve, Lisa."

"Oh, so I suppose all these people here are just for decoration?" her older sister snapped.

"I meant there are no hot guys to serve."

Lisa rolled her eyes as she picked up a glass and started polishing. "You're seventeen."

Letting out a long sigh as she ran her hand along the table in front of her face, Petrie mumbled, "You know, back in the old days, succubi could just morph into men's greatest desires, kill them and take their money."

She flinched as her sister whacked her with the dish cloth.

"I know we're not meant to say anything about what we are because Mum says she doesn't wanna live like Grandma," Petrie whined, beginning to trace a pattern that only she could see. "But at least Grandma could have some fun when she wanted."

Another whack from the dish cloth.

"We don't kill innocent men," Lisa reprimanded in a whisper. "Just because we're succubi, doesn't mean we have any right to kill people."

"I didn't mean I wanna _kill_ 'em," Petrie corrected in a whine. "I just wanna _sleep_ with..."

She stopped as the bell above the door rang. Two men and a girl a few years older than Petrie stepped inside. Petrie's jaw instantly dropped.

"Look at him," she gasped, staring at the shorter of the two men. "He's like an angel."

Lisa looked up and shook her head. "Only if he's the biker angel from hell. Your taste in men is something I will never understand."

As the three customers sat in a booth to the back of the pub, Petrie leapt up and grabbed the ordering pad before her sister could take it.

"I'll get this one," Petrie told her, winking.

Quickly applying a layer of scarlet lipstick, Petrie started a slow, seductive walk over to the booth.

- - -

Beclyn eased back in her chair, cringing at the pain in her back. They had been driving for most of the day again. She would have much preferred to have just gone straight to the hotel, but Dean had strongly been against it. It was all because he was trying to keep Sam from guessing they were a couple. As much as Beclyn didn't want him to know either, she still wanted the warm bed over the cold, hard booths. Besides, Sam had wanted to head to a hotel, too.

Suddenly, a short, skinny girl appeared beside the table, her skimpy clothes and caked-on makeup screaming 'skank'. Beclyn wondered if the girl had played with a power point one too many times when she saw the frizzy mane of blonde covering her head.

"Heya," the girl greeted them. Although Beclyn could tell she was trying to deepen her voice, the girl couldn't have been out of high school. "What can I get ya?"

Beclyn felt her jaw tighten as the girl made a deliberate wink at Dean. Dean straightened in his chair and flashed that cheesy smile he liked to call 'charming'.

"We'll have three beers, thanks," Sam quickly stated before Dean could say anything.

Scribbling the order on the note pad a little too slowly for Beclyn's liking, the girl piped, "Okay. Well, if you need anything else just give me a wave."

"Oh, believe me," Dean said suggestively, "I will."

As she bounced away, Beclyn gave Dean a death-glare. Dean ignored it and turned to Sam.

"So, have you found out more about those co-ordinates, yet?" Dean asked his younger brother.

Letting out a sigh, Sam shook his head. "Nothing so far."

"We're still across the border," Beclyn pointed out, suddenly wishing she could completely shut Dean out of the conversation. "Small towns usually like to keep bad news as quiet as possible."

"Yeah, no joke," Dean muttered. "That is if there _is_ news in the town." He leaned forward so that only they could hear him. "I reckon Dad's gonna be there with directions to the yellow-eyed demon."

"If Dad found the demon he would finish it himself," Sam scowled. "It's his stupid pride."

Dean looked around to see if anyone had heard them. His gaze caught that of the blonde-haired girl. He stood suddenly.

"Where are you going now?" Sam asked.

Giving a smirk and gesturing to the bar, Dean replied, "Company calls."

Before Beclyn could snap at him to sit back down, Dean had walked away.

"Bastard," she snarled under her breath. She tried to relax when Sam looked at her strangely.

"You could always tell him that you like him," Sam told her, a smile teasing at his lips.

Trying to ignore Sam's comment, Beclyn quickly changed the topic. "Tell me why you think your Dad's not gonna be at the co-ordinates."

Taking the bait, Sam let out a long, frustrated sigh. "It's because he wouldn't see us, not now. Not after so long."

Beclyn raised an eyebrow.

"Dad's a really hard person to explain," he continued, shaking his head. "He's always had this idea that a good job is done alone, so that there's no one else there to stuff it up. Ever since Mum died, he hasn't quite seen anyone as friends or family. We're just soldiers to him, and if we mess up..." Sam turned away.

"Is that why you left?" she asked, trying to keep her eyes on him and not his egotistical brother flirting at the bar.

Scratching at the table top with his fingernail, Sam muttered, "Dean was always his favourite, and his main soldier. I wasn't allowed to look after myself. It was always, '_Take care of your brother, son. I'm counting on you...' _to Dean. One day Dad goes out on his own little gig. He wouldn't take us along even when we reached adulthood. So I told Dean I was going out and wasn't coming back. Dean panics and calls Dad."

Beclyn watched as he sunk lower in his seat.

"Dad rushes home faster than I can pack my bag. He's the angriest I've ever seen him. Starts blaming Dean. '_What did you do to him?' _and, '_You're a disappointment if you can't keep this family together.'_ I was standing right there. I was an adult. I was strong, smart and competent... But at that point, I may as well have been an infant. It was then that I realized that no matter how hard I tried, I would always be the weakest and Dean's handicap. So, later that night, I snuck out and didn't come back."

Beclyn looked at Sam sympathetically. "Christ, Sam... Talk about a crap childhood." She turned her gaze to face Dean and began, "I always thought Dean was protective, but..." She suddenly stopped and let out a tiny, enraged snarl.

Dean was leaning across the counter while that whore-of-a-slut was running her fingers over his leather jacket and playing with one of the zippers. An older girl with coloured black hair walked up to them, said something to Dean and shooed him away.

"Beclyn...?" Sam nudged her.

"_What_?"

Sam pulled away instantly as if she might bite his finger off. Beclyn's death-glare was firmly directed at Dean as he slouched back to the table.

"What happened to your date?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "Turns out she was seventeen."

Sam sniggered, making Beclyn's eye twitch. She didn't find the situation at all funny, and would sure as hell tear out Sam's tongue if he didn't shut up soon. She turned her glare on him and he instantly ceased.

A few seconds later, the black-haired girl delivered their beers. The boys opened theirs and began to drink, but Beclyn felt like crushing the bottle in her hands. A vein almost burst in her forehead as she felt Sam's gaze on her face.

"If you leave it too long, it'll go warm," he told her.

"Whatever," Beclyn snapped.

Sam cringed as she stood. "Where are you going?" he asked her as she began to walk towards the bathroom.

She ignored him and continued over to the hallway labelled 'Toilets.' Following it, she almost tripped over a set of stairs leading to the second storey. Feeling utterly pissed off, she slammed open the door leading to the ladies' bathroom, wondering if there was anything in the room she could destroy without it being missed later.

Suddenly, the door opened.

"Oh, hi," the frizzy, blonde-haired girl said nervously.

Beclyn felt her face twitch. She couldn't help but wonder if a higher power was tempting her. Instead of finding out, Beclyn stormed into one of the cubicles and slammed the door shut. She heard taps turn on and water rushing into a sink. A second later, the bathroom door opened and Beclyn heard the girl's footsteps receding.

Clenching her fist, Beclyn reminded herself that the little toad wasn't worth her time.

- - -

"Aren't you going to do something?" Sam asked once Beclyn was out of earshot.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Do something about what?"

"Beclyn's upset."

Dean shrugged. "Big whoop. She's always upset."

Frowning, Sam pointed out, "I think she's upset because you were hitting on another girl."

Dean picked something from his teeth with a fingernail. "Too bad for her."

It was obvious Sam knew that his brother was acting ignorant, but didn't bother saying anything else.

Suddenly, Dean stood as well.

"Should I even ask where you're going?" Sam sighed, lazing back in the seat.

It was Dean's turn to frown. "I need to take a leak!"

Walking towards the hall that Beclyn had disappeared down, Dean rubbed his aching head.

He had stuffed up. He didn't think he was flirting that much until the girl started playing with his jacket. Besides, he wouldn't have done it in the first place if he had known she was _seventeen_.

Finding the door going into the men's room, Dean went about his business, washed his hands and left. He was about to follow the hall back to the dining area when a hand grabbed his. Spinning around, he was lucky he hadn't pulled out his gun as he saw Beclyn grinning happily at him.

"Beclyn, I..." he began but was interrupted when she suddenly erupted into a fit of giggles.

"Did I scare you?" she asked, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

Dean stared at her, and then scoffed, "No, why would you scare me?"

"Good!" she exclaimed, although it was obvious that it had been her purpose. Suddenly tugging him towards the stairs, she whispered, "Come see what I found!"

Not knowing what else he could do but follow, Dean wondered what had made Beclyn so bubbly.

"You _have _to see this place," she told him with a giggle.

Climbing the last step and walking to the middle of the room, Dean wondered what he was meant to be looking at, but before he could say a word, Beclyn had planted her lips against his. He stared at her, confused.

When she finally pulled away, Dean scratched his head nervously and said, "Whoa... That was..."

"Totally intense?" Beclyn offered, grinning while she straightened her hair. "Like, I totally didn't wanna go too quickly, but then, like, I don't want the moment to be lost."

Dean looked at her strangely, wondering if there was a bit more alcohol in that beer than the bottle stated. Then he remembered that she hadn't opened hers.

"Oh, baby, what's wrong?" she cooed, hoisting her leg up to his hips.

Dean stumbled as her weight fell on him. "It's just... You're acting really weird."

Beclyn's shoulders slumped. "You mean, like, you don't wanna _do_ this?" Her hand began to trace a pattern on his thigh seductively as she pouted.

Running a hand through his hair, Dean explained, "Well, it's just... You want to do this _here,_ of all places? Why don't we send Sam for some food and we can... _WHOA_!" He pushed her off and leapt back instantly when he felt her hand slide up to his crotch and give a squeeze. She let out a cry as she hit the floor.

"Look, I don't know what's gotten into you, but whatever it is, it has to get the hell out," he told her, leaning down to help her. "You're acting drunk and it's making you do things that I don't think you want to do..." He stopped when he saw the tears coursing down her cheeks.

"Don't look at me!" she cried as he touched her shoulder.

"Beclyn..." Dean started, bet then turned away, ashamed at making her cry.

"You d-don't w-want to do anything w-with me!" she sniffled, hiding her face in her hands. "You p-pushed me away and h-hurt me!"

"Oh, Beclyn, I'm sorry..." Dean bent down and grabbed one of her wet hands, lifting her to her feet. "You're not like other girls," he tried to explain, brushing her damp hair out of her eyes. "I don't want it to be something cheap. I really like you and I don't want to use you while you're drunk..." He gently grasped her chin and lifted her head, looking into her watery eyes. "I don't want to make a mistake and lose you." As corny and cliché as he knew it was, she seemed completely engrossed by his words.

- - -

Beclyn was sure she'd heard a loud thump on the second storey, but brushed it off. Walking back in the dining room, she saw Sam waiting at the table. Alone.

"Oh, hell no," she muttered disbelievingly under her breath, heading back towards the noise she'd heard before.

- - -

His mouth enclosed over hers, tasting her tears as he pulled her body closer to his. His hands ran across her shoulders to the back of her head, pushing her harder to deepen the kiss. She opened her mouth to allow his tongue access. He was about to go ahead when a gasp from the stairs made him stop.

Breaking away from the kiss and looking up, Dean almost had a heart attack. Beclyn was standing on the steps, disbelief written across her features.

Glancing down, Dean realised that the Beclyn he had been kissing had somehow changed into the crying version of the blonde-haired seventeen year-old from the bar. She pushed herself away from him and dashed past Beclyn. It wasn't until he heard the running footsteps down the stairs that he let out a long, regretful groan.

"Beclyn, I'm sorry..." he started, but was cut short by a sound of a gunshot.

At first, he swore Beclyn had shot the girl while she was running down the stairs, but then realized the gun from her back pocket was pointed at him.

"Whoa! Whoa!" he cried out, putting his hands out in front in surrender. "Let's talk about this..."

"_You evil, moronic bastard_!" she screamed, firing the gun again.

Dean ducked, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He let out a cry of pain as the stitches in his stomach pulled sharply.

"Just wait a second!" he pleaded, begging that she would.

Sam appeared at the top of the stairs, his expression becoming horrified as he took in the situation.

"You were gonna fuck her, weren't you?" Beclyn sneered, aiming the gun at his chest.

"No!" Dean began, then faltered. "You don't understand. I thought she was you!"

"_BULLSHIT!_"

Another shot went off, barely missing Dean. Sam rushed forward and caught Beclyn's arm. He disarmed her then grabbed her shoulders.

"Think about what you're doing, Beclyn," Sam demanded. "Everyone downstairs is panicking. The police will be here any second!"

He let go, waiting for her to run. Instead, her furious gaze fell onto Dean. Sam reached out and pushed her towards the stairs.

"Run, Beclyn. Go!" he urged. Another shove and she was moving.

Dean quickly rose to his feet and began running towards the stairs. Several gasps and frightened shrieks met his ears as he exploded into the dining area. He saw the blonde-haired girl standing behind the counter, holding on to the older girl for dear life. A push on his shoulder from Sam told him that he had to keep moving. Rushing out into the parking lot, he saw Beclyn already grabbing at the car handles.

Ten minutes later and enough weight on the accelerator to earn the Impala twenty speeding tickets, they were safely away from the scene.

- - -

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" Dean roared, storming around the room.

Beclyn crossed her arms and glowered at him, not trusting herself to say anything.

"Guys..." Sam begged. Escaping from a now police-swarmed area to only be filed for domestic abuse charges did not seem like a good idea to him.

"She was a shape-shifter or something!" Dean explained, gritting his teeth. "She looked like you until you came in."

"Yeah, I bet," Beclyn snarled. "And I suppose me acting like a stupid kid really added to the whole effect, huh?"

"I just thought you were drunk!"  
"_And you were going to go ahead anyway?_"

"No!" Dean ran a hand through his hair, agitated. "It's hard to explain, but just trust me when I say that I wouldn't sleep with anyone else but you!"

Sam raised an eyebrow. It probably wasn't a good time to scream, '_Ha! I knew it!_"

"Just fuck off and die," Beclyn seethed.

Dean let out something between a snarl and sigh. "Sam, tell her what I mean!"

With both sets of eyes on him, Sam said, "I think it's a good idea if we sleep on this one. You're just going to keep yelling and getting nowhere if this continues."

For the first time Sam could remember, Dean and Beclyn both nodded and went to do as he said.

Shocked, Sam exclaimed, "Wow, it worked!"

That was until Beclyn punched Dean in the face when he reached for the same door handle as her.

"Where else am I going to sleep?" Dean protested, rubbing his face gingerly.

Beclyn pointed to the couch and slammed the door shut. Dean heard the click of the lock on the other side of the door.

Sam looked at his brother, to the couch, and then back again.

"Don't even think about it," Sam warned.

- - -

It was early when a blinding light woke Sam up. Sitting up on the couch, he saw Dean packing up the maps and clothes from the night before while he juggled a styrofoam cup of freshly-bought coffee.

"What time is it?" Sam asked groggily.

"Doesn't matter," Dean replied, looking as tired as Sam felt. "If we leave soon then we'll be at the co-ordinates by this afternoon.

Sam got to his feet and rubbed his head. Two more cups of coffee were sitting on the table.

"Is Beclyn up?" he asked.

Dean shook his head.

"We can't leave without her."

"I know that, Sam," Dean hissed, "but I'm not going in there. She's psycho."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Give me the cup of coffee and I'll do it."

Tensing, Dean looked up. "Do you have a death wish?"

"She's angry at you, remember? Besides, the sooner she's up, the quicker we can get going."

Shrugging, Dean passed Sam the cup of coffee. "I'll bet you'll be back out here in ten seconds with a knife between your eyes."

Ignoring his brother, Sam opened the door to the bedroom slowly, relieved that it was unlocked. He would hate to just be tossed back to his brother because of a locked door. Clutching the steaming cup of coffee, he approached the bed and surveyed the sleeping girl. She was curled up in the blankets like a child sleeping in a parent's bed. Her skin looked soft and her dark hair waved out behind her in silky ripples. She looked perfectly innocent when she was sleeping. A whole different story to when she was awake.

"Beclyn?" Sam whispered while slowly lowering himself to crouch beside the bed.

When she didn't wake, Sam held out a hand and softly squeezed her shoulder. Stirring slightly, Beclyn opened her eyes sleepily as she turned to face Sam.

"Morning," Sam said with a smile.

Beclyn blinked, dazed, and then yawned.

"I brought you some coffee." Sam offered the steaming styrofoam cup as Beclyn stretched. She accepted the cup and settled back down into bed.

_It's good that she's calmed down,_ Sam thought, relieved.

Beclyn turned to read the digits on her bed-side clock. Sam gave one last smile before turning to walk out of the room, ready to give a bit of privacy for her to get changed.

"Sam?" Beclyn called in a sleepy, quiet voice. "Sam, can I tell you something?"

Sam stopped in his tracks and turned to see Beclyn huddling beneath her covers, cradling her cup of hot coffee as if it were a life-source.

Sam returned to the bed.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

Suddenly, Sam launched back from the bed with a roar of pain as his chest felt like it had caught on fire. Twisting in agony, he ripped off his shirt to see scalding brown coffee drip from the cotton. Sam turned to Beclyn with a glare to find her looking furious. She was holding an empty coffee cup and the clock for him to read.

_4:32 AM_

"Too early?" Sam croaked, feeling his naked chest burn.

"Let me say this to you _once_, Sam," Beclyn said in a threatening tone, "if you _dare_ wake me up this early again, I will personally scratch out your eyes with my bare hands and force you to swallow them along with your tongue, do you understand?"

Not knowing what else to do, Sam gave a brief nod. His eyes watered, trying not to concentrate on the pain.

"Good," Beclyn hissed. "Now, you can wake me in five hours. Got it?"

Sam walked out of the room, his body on automatic since his brain stopped working. Dean instantly choked on a sip when Sam returned to the kitchen, bare-chested and soaked with coffee.

Before Dean could comment, Sam said, "Dean, I completely believe you when you say she's psycho."

Dean put the cup down as he tried to hide his chuckle. "You should've listened."

Wringing out his shirt, Sam muttered, "Well, someone's gotta wake her up and I'm not going back in there."

"We could always just tie the bed to the roof of the car."

Sam understood that for '_I really don't care as long as I'm not the one doing it_'.

Glowering at his brother, Sam sighed and said, "Why do I always have to be the sacrifice?"

- - -

**How was that chapter? For the sake of celebration I give all reviewers chocolate. If you're allergic to chocolate then have a cookie. If you're allergic to cookies then have a hug. Don't reject my hugs. **

**I love reviews and am very spiteful if I don't get them. Once again, I'm not telling you the number I want. This is a great guessing game which everyone has to play. You'll know if you have won if you have a chapter by next week. **


	39. Chapter 39

**Deadly Betrayal**

**I tried my cooking skills the other day. My mashed potatoes turned grey and lumpy and the main meal was cold. Nobody wanted to touch it. I thought it was really yummy. There's really not much to say apart from that. I'm hunting down all sorts of scary horror movies because mine just aren't cutting it anymore. What are everyone's favourites? **

**Warning: THIS CHAPTER IS FOR OLDER READERS ONLY. IF NOT, SKIP THE PART LABELED -O-O-O- . VIOLENCE. SWEARING. VERY STRONG ADULT THEMES. ... It's about time I had another chapter like this... **

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**Chapter 39**

The roars of anger and pain alerted the yellow-eyed demon to the failure of his younger brother's plan. Even from his dank, dark little room several stories above his brother's, he could feel the thuds and crashes as the silver-eyed demon let out his fury. Stretching his arms above his head, the yellow-eyed demon let out a long yawn and climbed to his feet. Someone had to check on his brother, and he was probably the only one in the entire Cave who wouldn't be annihilated on the spot. He hoped.

Moving slowly down the levels, the yellow-eyed demon raised his eyebrow as he observed the small signs of his brother's fury. Spidery cracks lined the walls of the deep, fiery pit, and two piles of clothing lay beside the door leading to his brother's room. About ten minutes ago those pieces of clothing had belonged to the guards. Guards who were now particles of dust flying around the room somewhere.

Sighing, he pushed open the first set of doors, pausing briefly in the room beyond to steel himself, and then marched through the second door to find his brother sitting alone in the middle of the room. Once again, the lay-out had changed; just a single chair remained to keep the silver-eyed demon company. His little brother winced as he dug a large pair of tweezers into his arm. The yellow-eyed demon felt his brotherly protection rage to life as the tweezers ripped a bullet from the wound.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded, crossing the room to his brother. Before the silver-eyed demon could protest, he had whipped the tweezers out of his hand and started helping.

Glaring at the ground, the silver-eyed demon said nothing.

"I saw that you restructured the guards outside your door," the yellow-eyed demon pointed out. "Wanna talk about it?"

"_No_."

The yellow-eyed demon flinched from the harshness in his brother's tone. "I'm guessing the plan didn't go well."

A moment of awkward silence followed, and then, "The plan failed. I had her right there. I was going to kill her, and then..."

"Let me guess," the yellow-eyed demon sighed. "The Winchesters, huh?" Pulling another bullet from his brother's body, he muttered, "Damn kids are getting smarter, like their Dad." He moved to show his brother the bullet. "Silver."

"It shouldn't have mattered if they were there..." his younger brother said, more to himself than anyone else. "The witch said that it was an illusion and only..."

"That's because it's Deirdre!" the yellow-eyed demon hissed. Pulling out another bullet, he snarled, "The woman's been useless more times in the past than we can count, and besides, her '_psychic ability_'..." He spat the word. "... is pathetic! I bet a street rat is more capable of making a potion than she is."

He bit his lip as his brother's gaze didn't waver from a small mark on the floor. It was then that he saw the deep cut in the silver-eyed demon's shoulder.

"Looks like Beclyn hasn't changed much," he pointed out, gesturing to the shoulder. "She's still trying to kill you."

There was a sigh from his brother. "I barely recognized her," the silver-eyed demon muttered. "I think it's the influence of people. She's figured out how to adapt to certain situations." Something unfamiliar flashed in his eyes. "She thinks before she kills now."

"Isn't it a good thing that she's not as dangerous as she used to be?"

The silver-eyed demon thought for a second and then said, "Maybe."

"Why don't we just go back to searching for the prophecy's creature, then?" the yellow-eyed demon suggested. "We've made mistakes when we thought we had found the one, and Beclyn was just one of those mistakes." An encouraging smile formed over his lips. "Besides, it means that you get to go back to copulating each night and I get to go back to using my blood as baby food..." Which he hated with a passion, but he knew it was necessary in order to find the child that would fulfil the prophecy once turned. He was suddenly reminded that another of those past mistakes had been Sam Winchester. He was not looking forward to the day that he was cornered by the deranged, lethal John Winchester. Somehow, he didn't think John would accept the excuse, "_it seemed like a good idea at the time_..."

For the first time, the silver-eyed demon looked up from the floor, defeat glazing his eyes.

"We thought we finally had it," he muttered softly. "We were so sure she was the one."

The yellow-eyed demon bit his lip. Sure, there were times when he thought Beclyn could be the one, but it was his brother's steady encouragement that heavily weighted that decision.

"Remember when you met her?" his younger brother asked with a desperate grin, as if trying to fight the on-set of depression. "We couldn't believe how perfect she was."

The yellow-eyed demon sighed. Of course he remembered meeting Beclyn for the first time. It was hard to forget a vicious, unforgiving little brat like that. Why on earth was his brother bringing this up now?

"I remember she was hard to raise," the yellow-eyed demon confessed, still remembering some of the more violent fights he'd had to endure because of her stubbornness. "I remember how she wanted to take up fighting lessons after she was attacked by three demons."

"Oh, yes," his brother chuckled. "Poor Maxium didn't want to teach her. I guess he knew what was coming."

"Or all those times she snuck out to get food."

"Or that time she met Jamison."

"She met Jamison?" the yellow-eyed demon asked, taken back by the comment.

Some light filled his brother's eyes. "She was the first person I showed him to. She thought he was a real treasure. I think it's because he didn't register pain as quickly as others. She loved hurting him."

The yellow-eyed demon swallowed nervously. Before his death, Jamison had been the Cave's main form of punishment. It was the most unpleasant form to die, especially for females. Jamison did what no other punishment did which was to rape. It was common knowledge that rape was the most excruciating torture a female demon could suffer as it tore their soul and pride in two. Everyone had been afraid of him. Everyone except his brother and Beclyn.

It was hard to think of Beclyn as different. He never thought she could be innocent or even somewhat human. Even before his brother brought her to the Cave she was something else. She had been like no other human child that he had ever seen. She barely showed any emotion at all, towards anything or anyone. Her sadistic tendencies alone were enough to drive a gap between her and most people. She had been exactly what the prophecy had said; scarily so.

She was half-human and she was a murderer. There was no way he could forget that.

He figured it was about time for him to step into the fight and succeed where his brother had failed.

**-O-O-O-**

_Ten years earlier_

The oval-shaped pit was set up as a gladiator's ring, with a small sand circle in the middle and stands reaching to the roof around it. The only way in and out of the pit was through a large tunnel in one side of the stand that could be blocked off with a secure steel-barred door. Usually the pit was empty, but today the deafening roars of thousands of demons in the stands filled the cavern. Most of them were screaming and yelling obscenities, while others were pounding on their seats, anticipating the trial about to be carried out. In a small box designed for the head demons, the yellow-eyed demon waited, his head pounding as the noise assaulted his ears. He hated trials and public executions. They were always so noisy, but he was only there because he had to be. It was in the demon's code of law that the closest relative of the head demon had to be witness to all trials. It was just his luck that he was his brother's only living relative. However instead of there being only two seats in the already crammed box, there were three. It wasn't too hard to guess who the third seat belonged to.

As if on cue, the door behind him opened. Looking up, he nodded at Beclyn. She ignored him as she sat in the seat farthest from him. She already looked bored.

"This is your first time at one of these, isn't it?" he tried to strike up a conversation.

Turning to him, her hard, dark eyes seemed to bore straight through him. "It's an execution, isn't it?" she asked in a monotone.

He rolled his eyes. His brother probably told her it was an execution just to get her to attend.

"There has to be a trial carried out first," he explained. "If the head demon finds the convicted guilty then they are sentenced to death."

"And if they are sentenced to death...?"

"Well, usually Maxium would be the executioner, but..." he started.

She looked away, tired with the conversation. He was going to say Maxium would remove the head in one quick, painless move that ensured death instantly. However, Beclyn had killed Maxium last week in a duel. There had been whisperings about it being an unfair fight, and the yellow-eyed demon wouldn't have been surprised if only his brother, Maria and he had talked to Beclyn since then. With Maxium gone, he wondered what his brother would use as the punishment.

He'd just started searching the crowd for his children when the door suddenly opened and his brother entered. It wasn't customary for the head demon to wear formal clothing to trials, but the yellow-eyed demon knew his brother loved going all-out for the occasion. Like many other demons in the Cave, he thought trials and executions were the most exciting events.

As the silver-eyed demon took his seat, the yellow-eyed demon wondered if he should ask Beclyn what the punishment was going to be. After all, he knew his brother had been sharing secrets with her that he could never hope to hear. He supposed he shouldn't be jealous. Even he had told Beclyn a few things he wouldn't say to his sibling.

His brother suddenly stood. Silence almost immediately followed. The yellow-eyed demon glanced over to Beclyn. Her gaze had lifted but she still looked bored.

Abruptly, there was a scream somewhere from the pit below. The large, steel door cutting off the entrance to the pit opened. A moment later, two guards entered, dragging a desperately struggling girl into the circle.

For one heart-stopping moment he realized the girl had red, curly hair, just like Maria.

The girl sobbed as the guards held her in place where the silver-eyed demon could fully observe her. One of the guards stood forward.

"We are here today for the trial of Anna-Louise Hurtsly, descendant of the Anamalech clan," he bellowed. "Her crimes are that of loving a human and attempting to elope."

As the girl tried to pull away, a wild roar of screams erupted from the crowd, yelling insults at the girl and demanding her mutilation.

The yellow-eyed demon suddenly wished Beclyn wasn't sitting by his brother, watching. However, her eyes showed nothing but disinterest.

Once again, the silver-eyed demon called for silence and it instantly followed.

"Anna-Louise, do you understand that you have broken the demon code of law?" he demanded.

Looking horrified, Anna-Louise wailed, "I didn't know what I was doing! It was an accident, I swear!"

Another wave of roars and another order for silence.

The silver-eyed demon turned to Beclyn. "What is your judgement?" he asked.

"_What_?" the yellow-eyed demon cried out, looking aghast. "You can't ask Beclyn to judge her. Only the head-demon can ever judge and..." He grabbed his brother's arm and yanked him down to whisper harshly into his ear. "...this girl's being charged with loving a human. It's not fair for a human to sentence her, and besides..." He lowered his voice further. "...I know you lust for Beclyn in your sleep and yearn to touch her when you're awake. What difference is there between you and Anna-Louise?"

Smiling maliciously, his brother replied in a whisper, "That's why I'm getting her to judge."

Pulling away, the silver-eyed demon stood next to Beclyn before turning back to the girl.

"Please..." Anna-Louise pleaded to him.

"The one who holds your fate is Beclyn, not me," he told her.

There were cries of disbelief from the crowd. For the first time, Beclyn's eyes sparkled with interest, the lust of the kill bringing her to life.

Anna-Louise glanced from the silver-eyed demon to Beclyn and then cried, "You're a human! You understand, don't you? You know what it's like to feel human emotions! I couldn't help but love him and I know he loves me back!"

"You understand that if you are judged innocent then you will be banished from the demon world and all of its help?" the silver-eyed demon demanded.

"_Please!_" Anna-Louise continued to beg. "I promise to leave and never come back. _Please!_"

Beclyn stood, her eyes not wavering from the girl's gaze. The yellow-eyed demon watched as his brother's lips upturned into a menacing grin.

"No," he protested. "Beclyn can't..."

A wave for silence from the silver-eyed demon made him falter.

The tension in the room heightened as Beclyn stared harder into the girl's tearful eyes.

"I sentence you to death," Beclyn announced loudly so that all of the stand could hear her verdict.

The ecstatic roar from the crowd revealed that they were pleased with the answer.

"_NO!_" the girl screamed, instantly beginning to struggle again as the guards grabbed her. "_YOU'RE A HUMAN! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU'RE A HUMAN!_"

Suddenly, a different, creature-like roar came from the tunnel behind the steel-door. The stand fell quiet as loud barbaric snarls and screeches came closer. The girl dropped to the ground as the guards relinquished their grip. She stared fearfully at the steel doors as the guards ran for cover. A tiny, scared squeak escaped her throat as whatever was making the sounds came closer.

The yellow-eyed demon stared at his brother as Beclyn's expression changed to gleeful sadism. His brother looked proudly down at Beclyn. The yellow-eyed demon could barely breathe. He knew that what was about to happen would give him nightmares for years.

Two dirty feet appeared in the doorway of the steel doors. The girl gave one last sob of fear as a fully naked man staggered into the pit. Deep, hideous scars rippled down the full length of his back as he arched backwards and let out a furious roar. His hands were tensed, the fingernails sharpened to vicious points so they seemed more like claws. Every part of the man was filthy, including the figure's swollen, painfully aroused member.

His stomach clenched in horror as the yellow-eyed demon realized it was probably human.

"What is this thing?" he gasped, unable to avert his gaze.

"This, my brother," the silver-eyed demon said proudly, "is Jamison."

Throwing a glance to Beclyn, he realized she was on the edge of her seat, tense with excitement. Only pain and gore brought her excitement like that. Perhaps she had seen this creature work before.

For a few moments, the figure staggered around the pit. He tensed his back, and his joints let out several loud cracks as he stretched his limbs. The girl crawled to the wall and heaved herself to her feet. She was desperately glancing up at the people in the stands. With a deep wave of sympathy for the girl, the yellow-eyed demon realized she was staring into the eyes of her family. Suddenly, one of the people she was staring at spat at her. With a cry, the girl fell to the ground. The yellow-eyed demon instantly felt his chest clench up as the figure snapped his gaze to her.

For the first time in several thousand years of trial history, not one person roared for the kill. Everyone was silent, fearful that the creature may turn its hungry gaze to them.

As the creature began to make its way over to the girl, she frantically began to scramble towards the steel doors. She wasn't quick enough, and he grabbed her fragile arm in a tight vice. The crowd watched silently as he tore the limb from her body, a sudden spray of blood arcing to the ground.

The yellow-eyed demon felt sick as the girl stumbled to the floor and let out a long, shrill scream of agony. The creature grabbed her by the shirt and ripped it, revealing her naked upper half. The girl continued to try and get away as he sunk his nails into her flesh, ripping a chunk from her stomach. The yellow-eyed demon tried to force himself to look away as a mixture of intestines and blood fell to the floor. He didn't want to look as the creature tore the rest of her clothes away. He tried to avert his gaze as it bit into her leg and tore the muscle from the bone. Even as the blood spurted from the arteries and the girl's wails grew louder and more tortured, he couldn't find the power to turn away. It wasn't until the creature pinned her to the floor, lined up its swollen member with her crotch and mounted her that the door to the cramped box swung open and the yellow-eyed demon stumbled out, a hand covering his mouth to keep him from retching.

He thought that Beclyn was cruel when it came to murdering people, but just watching that had told him that she could be down-right sadistic when it came to demons.

Didn't his brother realize it was only a matter of time before her hunger turned on them?

**-O-O-O-**

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**I kind of like that circle warning sign, actually. My small mind is amused. I had to throw in another Jamison thing. He's my favourite evil character and I don't think I gave him enough justice. My beta was seriously shocked. **

**Every review I receive, I throw an egg at your character of choice. How's that for encouraging you to review? **


	40. Chapter 40

**Deadly Betrayal**

**New Chapter. Way late. I get that. I would have updated earlier but I didn't get many reviews, so... **

**Nothing much new to say. Obsessed with My Bloody Valentine. Tom is hott. Another character to add to my Jensen Ackles list. That is all. **

**Warnings: swearing, adult themes. **

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**Chapter 40**

Sam was thankful when the Impala finally drove past the sign reading 'You are now leaving Nebraska'. A few houses dotted the country-side as they drew nearer to the co-ordinates. Apparently, from his research, the town was cheery and had barely any news. Apart from the 'acclaimed happy pumpkin festival' which was broadcasted nationally each year, there was barely anything to report. He hoped that no news would mean that his father would be waiting - just like Dean had said. Either that or they were going to be hunting evil pumpkins.

"Look at this place!" Dean said with a long whistle. "Everything's so neat and tidy. It's like the most perfect town in America. What do you think, Beclyn?"

Sam wished that Dean would stop trying to attract Beclyn's attention. She had been angry at his brother for most of the day and would continue to be if Dean kept making apologetic attempts. As much as Sam hated them fighting, the awkward silence straining the conversation every time his brother opened his mouth was worse by far. Nothing was resolved by silence.

Glancing outside the window, Sam could understand his brother's liking for the small town. All the houses were perfectly laid out along the road with trimmed, neat lawns, freshly-painted exteriors, kids playing in the street and the mouth-watering smell of pork chops and apple pie as families sat down to eat dinner. It was the type of town he would have loved to grow up in. There was only one problem.

"Doesn't seem like a very tourist-friendly town, does it?" Dean sighed.

"It's gonna take forever to drive to the next town and find a hotel," Sam groaned.

"Sorry, Sam. I ain't camping in the Impala tonight," his brother told him. "Looks like it's gonna take another hour to find a hotel..."

Driving to the edge of town, Dean slowed down as a cottage came into view. A well-worn sign almost covered in creeping vines made him stop.

"Anybody up for a B&B?" Dean asked, a giant grin on his face.

As the Impala pulled up the dirt driveway of the house, Sam noticed the garden out the front. Several colourful flowers bloomed in the afternoon sun while more almost-familiar plants were propped up with wooden stakes. The owner of the cottage must have loved gardening to put so much care and effort into it. For a heart-warming moment the home reminded Sam of Missouri's.

"Ain't this place great?" Dean beamed.

Sam waited until the car was parked before he climbed out and stretched. The fresh scent of honey-suckle, roses and lavender tickled his nose.

"Well, hello there!" a voice suddenly called from the house.

Turning, Sam watched as an elderly woman around the age of seventy came hobbling across the driveway. Laughter lines fanned out from her mouth and eyes as a welcoming grin spread over her face.

"Hey," Dean returned with a smile while closing the Impala door. "Need some customers?"

The woman's grin became wider as she gestured for them to come into the house. Following her, Sam realized that the inside was just as homely as the outside. Paintings of fruit bowls, flowers and county-sides lined the walls next to several glass cabinets filled with teapots, cat statues and photos that dominated the carpeted corridor.

"Come through here into the kitchen, darlings," the woman invited them in.

Sam felt his mouth water as the scent of beef casserole wafted around the small room. Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Sam thanked the woman as she placed some coffee mugs in front of them.

"Been a good day?" Dean attempted small-talk.

The woman beamed at him and said, "If you call cooking and cleaning a good day."

"Do you get many customers?" Sam joined in, watching as she placed a plate of chocolate-chip cookies between them.

"I don't usually get many customers. Nothing really happens in this town," the elderly woman stated as she grabbed a teapot off the stove. She sighed as she poured Beclyn a cup of herb-scented tea. "It isn't so bad, I suppose. It means I don't have to clean the rooms as often, and it's not like I need the money either. It's more for the company, you see."

"You must get very lonely, Mrs...." Sam pointed out, ignoring the raised eyebrow his brother directed at him.

"Ms., sweetie," the woman corrected with a wink. "Ms. Stephanie. My husband died way back before I opened the B&B..."

She shuffled around to Sam's side of the table and poured him a cup. Sam couldn't help but feel that she was eyeing him all over. Maybe saying that she was lonely wasn't the smartest thing.

Sam tried to send a signal of discomfort to Beclyn and Dean but they were already sipping at their cups, listening to Ms. Stephanie.

"This is really good tea," Dean complimented, taking a cookie with the mug still in his hand.

Ms. Stephanie smiled warmly. "It's my own brew, made from fresh herbs in the garden."

Taking a sip from his mug, Sam's nose wrinkled at a familiar sharp scent from the mug, but didn't say anything. He watched as Beclyn and Dean downed the rest of their tea. Ms. Stephanie quickly refilled their mugs.

"So what are you kids doing in town? Surely the pumpkin festival is not for another few weeks..." Ms. Stephanie began.

"Oh, we're police-in-training," Dean answered, already half-way through his tea. "We have to do some small-town investigating to get those merit-points up."

Ms. Stephanie hesitated. "Are you investigating a crime in this town?"

"Not particularly," Dean said with a chuckle. "Not unless you're growing marijuana out in the backyard."

It was Ms. Stephanie's turn to laugh. "Not since the sixties, dear," she scolded playfully.

Sam played with his mug. Ms. Stephanie offered him a cookie, but he refused politely. Although he hadn't had dinner, he didn't feel hungry. A nervous knot of tension was forming in his stomach. Maybe their father really did send them to this town so they could see him. The look on Dean's face read that he thought the same, too.

"You know what?" Sam turned to Ms. Stephanie, trying to stifle a yawn. "I'm really tired, so should we organise any forms or payments before we grab a room?"

"Oh, no," Ms. Stephanie said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "It's getting late. You kids go settle into your rooms and we'll sort out the board in the morning."

Giving a heartfelt smile, Sam nodded thankfully to her before leaving the kitchen. Climbing up the set of stairs, he could still hear Dean making conversation with Ms. Stephanie. He guessed that Beclyn would go to bed soon, too. After all, she wasn't exactly contributing to the conversation and she seemed tired at the table.

Crossing a hall, Sam found the rooms. A frown creased his forehead when he realized there were no rooms with three beds. Sighing, he juggled the idea of going back downstairs and asking Beclyn if she wanted a room to herself tonight. He didn't think she would be too friendly towards Dean after what had happened the night before. However, his body was feeling sleepier by the second. Picking the next room he stumbled into, he closed and locked the door. Barely keeping his eyes open, he fell onto the bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes.

- - -

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Beclyn opened her eyes slowly. Her eyelids felt heavy, as if they were weighed down with bricks. Even with her eyes open she could hardly see anything. Her vision was cloudy and dark. For a second, she wondered what time it was.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Every part of her body hurt and she knew it shouldn't. Lifting a hand, she held it a foot from her face. It was blurry. Her fingers had a strange tingling sensation. Her hand dropped back to her side. It was too hard for her to hold it up when it felt that heavy. Something hard dug into her back. She could feel the hard mattress beneath her and the even harder slats underneath that. It was too tiring to think. Her eyes drooped drowsily.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Tilting her head slightly, she saw a side table with a lamp and a clock. The lamp was on, but the light was too dim to see the room. She looked at the clock. The digits were blurred. All she could see was the wire cage lining the outside for protection. On a second glance, she saw that another wire cage was also protecting the lamp. She forced herself to sit up and then regretted it as white dots swam across her vision. Her head spun. She reached out for support and caught the side table. Lifting herself off the bed, her legs almost collapsed underneath her. Beclyn couldn't remember the last time she felt so weak. Some memories came back to her head.

_Getting changed for bed..._

_Dean putting his knife under the pillow..._

_Arguing over the girl at the bar..._

_Dean wrapping his arms around her and telling her that she was warm enough for him..._

_Pushing him away and telling him to find another room..._

The room certainly was not the one she had fallen asleep in. Reaching out, she touched a cold, cement wall. She ran her fingers along it until she found a crack. A small, cool stream of water trickled over her fingers. Following the crack further up the wall, she looked up as a drop of water splashed her on the forehead. She could only just make out the outline of a pipe just out of her reach above her. Panic had yet to settle in her mind as she wondered where she was.

Stumbling to the only door she could see, Beclyn tried to find the door handle. There wasn't one. Running her hands along the frame, she felt the cold hardness of a steel door. She sucked in a deep breath before suddenly slamming her fist as hard as she could against it. She knew that with such an impact her hand should have hurt, but all she felt was the strange tingling sensation.

"Hello?" she called, her voice barely louder than a hoarse whisper. She coughed to clear her throat and slammed her fist against the door again. "Dean? Sam?"

She was just starting to get some feeling in her hands when she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. There was a jingle of keys, a sound of a large bolt being pulled across, and then a blinding flash of light as something shone in Beclyn's eyes.

"Holy shit," an unfamiliar male voice said. It seemed to echo and distort in Beclyn's mind as if she was hearing it from the other side of a cave.

There was a crackle of a radio, a string of curses from the person standing in front of her, and then, "Get the doctor down here. Jones in ward fourteen is having some sort of an attack."

The footsteps began to recede back into the hall.

"Wait!" Beclyn cried out, but knew she was being ignored as the door slammed and the locks were put back in place.

The world spun for a few seconds. She was too dizzy to stand. She fell back onto the bed, grasping her head. She had no idea how much time had passed before she heard two male voices in the hall and the jingle of keys once again. Footsteps entered the room and stopped a foot in front of the bed. Another light, more intensified, filled one eye and then the other. Something with five fingers waved before her face.

"Beclyn?" a familiar voice called to her. It sounded too far away, too distorted to be real. "Beclyn, can you hear me?"

Beclyn looked in front of her. Someone was kneeling in front of her. Her vision cleared long enough to see the scraggly, long hair and the concerned brown eyes.

"Sam?" she whispered.

There was a second of tense silence and then, "Get the nurse in here pronto."

It felt like less than thirty seconds before another set of footsteps joined them.

"How much did you give her?" the familiar voice demanded. A shuffle of papers and then, "That's too much. Who gave you authorization for this? Never mind. Just get me..."

The voice stopped as the footsteps quickly scurried out into the hall and then returned.

Beclyn felt something cold and wet swab her arm before a stinging feeling against her vein. Suddenly, the world spun so fast that she clutched the bed and let out a moan. Almost as abruptly as she had woken with the cloudy head, blurred vision and unstable surroundings, she felt fine or as close to it as she could feel at that moment.

Like she had thought, Sam was in front of her, now placing an empty needle on a tray a blonde-haired nurse was carrying. Turning to Beclyn, Sam held out a hand and waved it in front of her face. She studied him, suddenly wondering why he was wearing a lab coat and a name tag proclaiming him as 'Dr. S. Winchester'.

"Beclyn, do you remember me?" he asked slowly and carefully as if talking to a child, flicking out a penlight torch and shining it in her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Beclyn swiped the penlight away from her face. A security guard, probably the one she had heard before, moved to restrain her.

"Whoa, whoa," Sam ordered, holding up a hand to stop him. He then turned back to Beclyn and repeated in baby-talk, "How are you feeling?"

"Cut the bullshit, Sam," Beclyn suddenly snapped. She didn't know if it was the drugs that were making her angry or the unnerving situation. "Where the hell am I?"

Sam looked as if he had just been slapped. The nurse gave the security guard a frightened glance.

"Ah," Sam hesitated, blinking dumbly. "You're in the Pitenesha Private..." He stopped as something clattered to the floor behind him. The nurse flushed a bright crimson as she bent down to pick up the metal tray she had dropped.

Thankful that all signs of baby-talk had ceased, Beclyn sighed and muttered, "What are you talking about?"

Sam hesitated before gesturing to the nurse to bring him a clipboard. Grabbing it off her when offered, he flipped a few pages and read out loud, "Jones, Beclyn. Patient Number: 014 923."

Beclyn stared at him blankly. "Where's Dean?"

Sam's brow furrowed as he gave the clipboard back to the nurse. "Sorry?"

"Dean. You know, your brother?"

An incredibly tense atmosphere filled the room. The nurse took a step back, still giving scared glances to the security guard.

"How do you know Dean?" Sam asked her, his voice cautious.

"Come on, Sam," Beclyn said, her patience wearing thin. "Stop protecting your brother when we both know it was his fault for hitting on the kid." There was a long stunned pause from Sam before Beclyn urged, "What are you deaf? Let's grab Dean and get out of here..."

Sam lifted a hand to his forehead and began to rub gently. "Wait... How could you have possibly known Dean?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "You've been in here for three years and..."

Beclyn stood suddenly, ignoring him. Her head could barely comprehend what he was saying. "Come on, we gotta go." She tugged at his shirt. When he didn't move, she stumbled to the door, but stopped when the security guard blocked her path.

"Hey, move it, buddy," Beclyn ordered, her eyes hardening as the security guard just looked at her.

"Beclyn, maybe you should take a seat," Sam told her, his hand reaching out for her.

"No, Sam," she protested, turning around to face him. "This is crazy..."

Suddenly, the security guard grabbed her and forced her onto the bed.

"Hey!" Beclyn cried out, trying to shove him off. She turned to see the nurse filling a syringe with a liquid.

"Wait," Sam told the nurse, approaching Beclyn. He knelt down, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I'm afraid I can't let you leave."

"What are you talking about?" Beclyn asked, struggling.

Sam sucked in a deep breath and then let it out with a long sigh. "I don't know how you knew my brother, Beclyn, but I'm sorry to tell you that he's dead."

There was a moment where Beclyn just stared at him blankly, and then she felt as if all of the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Sam kept looking at her as if he were studying her reaction. He didn't laugh or show any sign that what he had said was a joke.

"No," Beclyn finally said, shaking her head disbelievingly. "No, Dean's fine. I saw him last night before I went to sleep. We argued and everything..."

"Beclyn..." The patronizing tone had returned to Sam's voice. He stared at her in the eye. Nothing stirred except for the water dripping on the other side of the room. "Dean Winchester has been dead for nearly five years."

A shrill, unearthly cry filled the room. It took a few seconds for Beclyn to realize the sound was coming from her. The world slowed to a crawling pace as the news hit her. Everything moved in slow motion as Sam backed away. Everyone's voice had become distorted, incomprehensible. The guard stormed forward. She didn't feel his tight grasp on her arms or the pain as she kicked and screamed. She didn't feel the needle jab into her flesh. She didn't hear the cries of protest from the nurse as she scratched and clawed. She didn't feel the bed as she fell back on the hard mattress. She didn't see the nurse flee the room or the guard quickly following after. But she did notice the guard hesitating at the door, a malicious grin suddenly covering his face.

"Welcome to Pitenesha Private Insane Asylum, bitch," he sneered.

Then she heard the bolts slam home as she was locked into the room.

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**I would really like a few reviews this time. It's not like you should be embarrassed to review to this chapter. Anyway... – falls asleep – Until next time!**


	41. Chapter 41

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Once again I'm back with the next dose of craziness. I managed to get my hands on some of the episodes of season 4. I can't wait for them to come back to television. I've been watching my dog get eaten alive by my budgies all morning. You'd think this massive border collie would be able to take on these little singing sweethearts. I didn't realize they become green and yellow screeching projectiles of feathers when they're angry. It took me forever to detach one of them from his nose (mostly because I didn't want to get bitten). Now I have this lovely set of claw marks on my wrist. I used to pretend that my dog was a hell hound, so all I have to do is go, "Sick him, boy!" and my dog would collect a soul for me. So much for that plan. The massive feet-warmer can't even fend off two PMS-suffering budgies. **

**Warnings: I can't actually remember what I put in this chapter I wrote it that long ago. There'll probably be swearing and violence. I dunno. I'm thinking of putting in more naked scenes of the boys. Come on, authors need their scrimpy fanfic porn, too. **

**Disclaimer: Unlike what my beta thinks, I have never read or seen the One that Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. She said that some characters were strikingly similar. Just wanted to point that out before I had a heap of directors and mental patients knocking on my door. **

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**Chapter 41**

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Dean kissed Beclyn's neck as he ran his hands along her waist. She bit his ear gently, her sign for wanting more. His lips twitched up in a smile as she let him pull off her shirt.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. _

He couldn't explain to anyone how much he loved those breasts. They were just so soft and…breast-like. She moved to the bed. He grinned as she lay down, exposing herself. It was so exciting, so exhilarating, so...

_Drip. Drip. Plat._

The dream ceased suddenly. Dean's eyes twitched as he opened them slowly. He was lying on his back, a dark shape hovering above him. The face of a man came slowly into focus, grinning down at Dean like a moron as saliva dripped from his chin and onto Dean's forehead. It took a few seconds for Dean to comprehend the situation; a few seconds too long, as another glob of saliva hit him. Dean let out a loud, disgusted roar.

The man shrieked and leapt away. Dean moved a shaking hand to his forehead and wiped a thick streak of saliva from his skin. He let out a sound of utmost disgust and repulsion. The man rolled up into a ball on the floor, cowering.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean managed to demand, finding it hard to keep his stomach down as he wiped the spit onto the mattress he was sitting on.

The cowering man let out several childish squeals.

Dean wanted to find a wash-basin as quickly as possible. His mind was in shock and finding it hard to place thoughts together. To wake up from such a perfect dream to _that_ was just wrong.

"_Mama!_" the man cried, shaking his head furiously.

Dean tilted his head, looking at the man quivering on the ground. The man looked older than him by at least ten years. Raising an eyebrow as the man began to sob, Dean looked around the room for a wash-basin. He felt his disgust rise again as he only saw two beds. How the hell was he going to get the spit off?

Suddenly, a door opened in front of him and a young girl in a nurse uniform entered. She looked from Dean to the cowering man, and then back to Dean.

"Winchester!" she snapped, highly irritated. "What have you done to Patrick now?"

Dean was lost for words as she leant down to help the man. She whispered comforting words to the shaking figure before leading him to the other bed. The man lay down and snuggled into the blankets as if nothing had happened.

"You, come with me," she ordered, pointing a shaking finger at Dean.

Dean didn't wait to comply. Sure, the girl was young, but she was seven types of scary at that moment. Besides, she was kind of cute.

"I can't believe you," she seethed once he reached the hallway. She closed the door and pulled out a set of keys. Her hands were shaking with anger. "You know, I would find it a blessing if you didn't muck up for thirty minutes, Winchester."

She began to march down the white hallway. Dean quickly followed. He liked how her hips moved, and the way her blonde hair bounced.

"Trust an angel to save me from that situation," he flirted, hoping he had wiped off most of the spit.

"Oh, my gawd," she sighed angrily, not stopping. "Why do you always pick on your room mate? Every time I come into this ward I get another complaint about how you've done something wrong to the other patients. Well, I'm sick of it. Just plain sick of it!"

Dean felt as if he had just been slapped. Instead of hitting on her again, he saw many rooms with doors open along the hallway. He looked in as they passed. Several men were rocking on chairs, muttering to themselves. Some were slouched against the wall, drawing invisible pictures on the paint. One was sitting on a bed, staring into space.

"Excuse me," Dean interrupted the nurse's rants. "Where am I?"

The nurse let out a sound similar to a rhinoceros's snort. "Don't think you can pull that one on me again, Winchester," she hissed.

Dean paused, suddenly feeling very unsure. He had woken up in some strange situations before, but this was topping the list by far.

"Can you tell me where we're going?" he tried once more at getting an answer.

"Like you wouldn't know," she growled, acting as if he was only there to pester her.

"Look," he snapped suddenly, his patience evaporating. He grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him. "All I want to know is..."

"_ASSAULT_!" she suddenly screamed.

Dean recoiled, alarmed. Not only was the nurse seven types of scary, she was several types of crazy too.

"That's it!" she roared, grabbing him by the shirt collar. She almost strangled him as she began to pull him down the hall. "I was going to take you to the holding cell, but _no_. You just had to push my buttons again, Winchester!" She turned around and glared straight into his face. "We're going to see the Nurse Director. Right now!"

Dean went to say a snide remark, but stopped. It was starting to make sense. Waking up in a simple room, the nurse, the white halls, the strange people in the rooms...

He knew exactly where he was. The only question left now was if he was the only sane person in this asylum.

- - -

Beclyn didn't know how long she had been sleeping before the keys jangled in the lock. She sat up quickly, wiping the sleep from her eyes. The guard entered the room. He snorted at her, his brow furrowed menacingly. She was about to call for assistance when Sam entered the room.

"Hey, there," he greeted with a warm smile.

Beclyn looked at him, and then to the guard. "Sam?" she asked uncertainly.

"Don't worry," Sam told her, the smile still across his face. "This is just routine."

It didn't make her feel any safer. "What's routine?"

A nurse abruptly appeared in the doorway, pulling a stainless steel trolley along after her. Sam knelt down in front of Beclyn, his penlight appearing again and flashing it in her eyes. He lifted a hand.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Sam, what the hell is going on?" Beclyn demanded, ignoring the question. "Why won't you let me leave?"

"There will be plenty of time for questions later," Sam answered, still holding up his hand. "Now, how many fingers am I holding up?"

Beclyn gave him the most condescending glare she could manage. "Three."

"Good," he said, turning around to nod at the nurse. He didn't move as the nurse approached.

"Whoa, wait!" Beclyn cried out as she realized the nurse was carrying a pair of sharp scissors.

"Don't worry, Beclyn," Sam said calmly. "We just need to get you tidied up."

Beclyn pulled away and slammed her back against the wall as the nurse thrust the scissors next to her face. A piece of plaster peeled from the wall and fell next to her. The guard moved forward.

"It's just a haircut," Sam explained, not losing eye-contact with Beclyn.

The scissors were once again thrust into her face. Beclyn chewed her lip as she heard the snip, and a small clump of hair fell to the bed. It took less than ten minutes for the haircut, and another three for Beclyn's face to be wiped with an alcoholic cloth. Her fingernails and toenails were clipped while Sam checked for any marks or abrasions over her arms or legs. The nurse pulled away finally.

"Alright," Sam sighed, the smile back in place. "We're going to take a short walk to my office and then you can ask as many questions as you'd like."

Beclyn raised an eyebrow. From the patronizing tone of his voice, she didn't expect many of those questions to be answered.

Standing, she was lead down a series of hallways and into an elevator. The nurse got out after a few floors, but Sam and the guard never left her side. Finally they reached Sam's floor, and after being led down various hallways, Beclyn was guided into a cramped office, while the guard waited outside. The small space was filled by a desk, two chairs and a computer. Bookcases lined the walls, crammed with psychology textbooks, protocol notes and law texts. A lifeless pot plant sat next to the window, a failed attempt to brighten the work space.

Gesturing for her to take a seat, Sam sat behind the desk and clasped his hands. Beclyn sat nervously, noticing the large stack of papers beside the bookcase with her name clearly printed.

"Let me start by saying that I am overjoyed that you're awake," Sam began, insecurity and anxiety plain in his voice, as if he had never spoken to her before. "It is highly unusual in your case to see patients ever wake up, let alone show signs of alertness."

"Where am I?" Beclyn demanded. She wasn't interested in what Sam was trying to say.

"Pitenesha Private Hospital," he replied quickly, not seeming to mind being interrupted.

"The guard didn't call it a hospital," Beclyn pointed out. "He called it an insane asylum."

Sam shrugged. "Peter often gets confused as to what to tell the patients." He leant forward when Beclyn raised an eyebrow. "Look, we're not an insane asylum. Pitenesha Private cares for patients who have..." He hesitated for a second. "...other sicknesses."

A tense pause filled the room before Beclyn stated, "You think I'm crazy."

"'_Crazy_' is a very loose term," Sam justified, leaning back. Picking up a pen from his desk, he began to click it. "What do you remember?"

Beclyn stared at him for a second before running a hand through her hair. "I remember falling asleep next to Dean last night..."

"Dean Winchester?"

"What other Deans do we know?" she snapped, before taking a deep breath. "I remember following the co-ordinates. We went to a town famous for pumpkin festivals." She looked up. "We stayed at Ms. Stephanie's house last night. You went to bed early while Dean and I stayed up."

Sam clicked the pen again. His doctor's badge caught the light for a second. "What about before last night?"

Sighing, Beclyn tried hard to remember. The drugs had made her memories disjointed. "We were looking for your Dad. John Winchester."

The clicking stopped. "My father?"

"Yeah." Beclyn nodded. At least that sounded familiar. "We were hunting the yellow-eyed demon."

The clicking started again. "Did you find the yellow-eyed demon?"

Shaking her head, Beclyn said, "We were at the co-ordinates when _this _happened." She vaguely gestured around the room, making Sam smile softly.

"So we travelled together - you, Dean and I?"

Beclyn nodded. "We travelled cross-county."

"How did we get money?"

She shrugged. "Dean handled the money. Mostly it was credit-card fraud and poker games."

Sam smiled again. "That sounds like Dean," he said absent-mindedly. "What were we doing travelling cross-country - were we antique collectors or on vacation?"

"We hunted things," Beclyn answered, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.

"What type of animal?"

Beclyn tried to keep her face straight. She wanted to punch him, perhaps knock a few teeth out and replace them with sense. "We hunted creatures. Paranormal creatures."

Sam's face didn't show any emotion but interest. "What type of creatures?"

Shrugging, Beclyn said, "Anything really. Anything causing trouble."

"So we're talking werewolves, vampires, that sort of thing?"

"Demons, shape-shifters, ghosts, zombies - you name it."

The pen clicking continued steadily. "Tell me about when you were a child," Sam encouraged, leaning further back. When Beclyn didn't say anything, he pressed, "What were your parents like?"

"They're dead," she said bluntly.

Sam nodded, sorrow filling his features. "Were you in foster care?"

"Look, Sam," Beclyn finally snapped. "I've told you all this before."

"You _think _you've told me this before."

"No," Beclyn said, frustrated. "I told you about everything when you told me about Jess."

"Jess?"

"She was your girlfriend. She died."

The clicking stopped. "Oh. Jess..." He sighed before shaking his head. "Jess isn't dead."

Beclyn sucked in a breath.

"I don't know how you know this, but Jess and I were in law school together way back." He ran a hand through his hair, distracted. "We started dating, but we grew apart with all the cases and studies..." He stopped, as if pulling himself back into his professional status. "Actually, Beclyn, I brought you here to talk about your case." He stood, moved around the chair and leant against the desk, facing Beclyn. "Originally, when you arrived, we diagnosed you as dementia patient and then later observed several symptoms of schizophrenia."

Beclyn stared at him. "I don't even know what that means."

Sam sighed again as he studied her. "Well, dementia is usually induced by drug-abuse or factors of brain damage. When you were delivered to me several years ago, I couldn't get a word out of you. You were unresponsive to most tests and didn't have a clue about your surroundings. While I was studying your sleeping patterns it seems that you were talking to someone or reacting to something. That covers a few classes of schizophrenia. It's when you hear voices, or have erratic emotions, or experience delusions. The symptoms can vary between patients."

"You think I had dementia and schizo-franya?"

"Schizophrenia, yes," he corrected.

Beclyn raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm in another world right now?"

Sam clasped his hands together and gave a sad smile. "Beclyn, what you just described to me is a common delusion shared by many patients across America. Of course, yours may be more detailed and somehow centred around my family, but mostly it goes along the same lines of being either the hunter or the hunted. People have envisioned wild conspiracies about the CIA or aliens or even transvestites. It's my job to bring you back to the real world." Crossing his arms, Sam continued, "Your case is very special. Dementia isn't something you can snap out of and schizophrenia is a lot harder to cure and control than what you've revealed in the last twenty-four hours." His brow furrowed in concern as Beclyn averted his gaze. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'll go to the Nurse Director and ask for special consideration on your case. If that goes through, it might only be a matter of months before you're released or transferred."

Beclyn bit the inside of her mouth and tasted blood. "What about Dean?" she muttered.

Silence filled the room. "Beclyn," Sam said finally, "Dean's dead."

She looked up, feeling her face grow hot. "What happened?"

Sam rubbed a hand over his face and said, "It was years ago. Car accident. There was nothing I could do."

Beclyn shook her head angrily. "I don't believe you."

Reaching out and grasping her shoulder, Sam gave her a comforting squeeze. "Don't worry. You'll make friends here and learn how to get used to it. We're all here to help."

Letting go, he walked back to the other side of his desk and picked up a phone beside the computer. "Peter will take you back to your room," he told her.

As Beclyn stood, she felt like her legs were going to break underneath her. Everything felt fragile and beaten. She hadn't felt so helpless since Jamison had beaten her to a pulp. Peter was waiting by the door, quickly ushering her out of the office. She heard Sam greet someone on the phone before clicking the loudspeaker button.

"_I'm kind of busy right now, Sam_."

Beclyn froze. That voice. She knew that voice.

Peter noticed that she had stopped and grabbed her arm to keep her moving.

"I know that you're busy," Sam countered, his polite tone strained with urgency, "but I'd like to discuss a patient's details with you." He turned and saw Beclyn was still standing in the doorway. He impatiently waved for Peter to take her back to her room.

"_I'm with another patient at the moment,_" the woman's voice on the other end of the line sounded strained as if she was gritting her teeth.

Peter pushed Beclyn roughly, but she grabbed the door frame and clenched her fingernails into wood. Someone called to the person on the other end of the line. She couldn't shake that voice or what it was saying.

"_Talk to me in a few minutes..._" The woman's voice ended with a click as the call ended.

Beclyn felt her limbs turn to ice. There was no mistaking it. There had been another voice in that call. She had heard it in between the woman's voice, calling to her more urgently.

It had called her by her name.

And she knew that voice belonged to Dean.

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**I'm not updating until I get five reviews. I mean it.**

**Oh, and on another note, I THINK I've almost finished this story. I'm going in for the homerun! Now that I've said that, the next chapter probably won't be out until next year. Whoops. **


	42. Chapter 42

**So I didn't get my reviews but I wanted to get this chapter out because it's been forever. I've been a little bit side-tracked because I'm writing another fanfic for a friend where I cross over all of my favourite anime. If I get enough people asking for it, I might post it. But you know who it goes, the moment I make something official I seem to slack off a bit. I'm still hoping to finish this story where I'm going to move onto the next part. **

**Warning: Probably swearing. I can't actually remember. Isn't that just pathetic?**

**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 42**

The nurse let go of Dean's shirt before she knocked sharply on the door labelled 'Nurse Director'. When there was no answer, she opened the door slightly.

"No, Gerald! I have told you at least a dozen times in front of the Board that I cannot accept any more patients into this hospital. My resources are stretched as it is and I'm finding it difficult to find beds for the patients I've got, let alone for the ones who haven't arrived!"

Something about the voice sparked Dean's attention. He craned his neck to try and get a view of the frustrated person inside the room, but the crazy nurse was blocking the crack in the door.

"... Well then send them to William's province! Goodness knows he's always bragging about his hospital and resources..."

The nurse knocked again and gave an apologetic nod to the person in the room.

"Look, Gerald, I've got to go. One of my staff needs me."

Dean heard the click as the handset was replaced on the dial. Suddenly, the door opened to reveal a large, tidy office. The blonde nurse gave him a long, dark glare before stomping down the hall. Swallowing nervously, Dean entered the room. He almost tripped over his feet as he saw the Nurse Director and instantly regretted flirting with the crazy nurse.

"So you've been traumatizing your roommate again," the Nurse Director said sharply as she turned to face him.

Dean stared, not believing his eyes. "Beclyn?"

"That's Doctor Jones to you," she corrected snappily. She shuffled a few papers from her desk before taking a seat and gesturing for him to do the same.

As he sat, Dean's attention was caught by the white palate on the desk stating 'Dr. Beclyn Jones' before he studied the face before him.

Dark hair with a few outgrown highlights, deep blue eyes with lashes smothered in mascara, chewed lips with a thin layer of red lipstick, a strict, no nonsense face of an employer and a hard-working woman.

Since when did Beclyn wear lipstick?

"We need to discuss this compulsive, attention-seeking behaviour, Mr. Winchester," she said smoothly as she clasped her hands on the desk. Dean noticed the red, manicured nails. "I have warned you before that we need to redirect your attitude into a non-violent manner or else I will have to remove you from this ward."

For a second, Dean felt his mind become completely blank before he started laughing. Beclyn raised an eyebrow as he stood.

Grinning, he said, "Alright. I give. That was brilliant. Really good, in fact." He let out a chuckle as he ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, I don't know where we are but the creepy nurse just made it perfect. I can't believe I didn't think of it myself. Did Sam put you up to this?"

Beclyn eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Dean walked over to a bookshelf and began glancing over the shelves for any hidden cameras. "That guy in the room was really gross though. He took the prank a bit far, spitting on me and everything. Let me guess, he's a friend of Bobby's..."

Turning, his grin became wider as he remarked, "And I can't even find the cameras! You and Sam must have planned this for ages. And to think Sam said he wasn't going to play anymore pranks after..."

"Take a seat, Mr. Winchester," Beclyn ordered sternly.

Dean's smile slipped. There was something in her tone which made him shiver. It only took him a second to realize what it was.

"This isn't a joke, is it?"

Standing, Beclyn walked to a filing cabinet and opened a draw. Withdrawing a stack of files, she dropped it on the desk with a heavy thud.

Opening a folder, she removed a thick wad of papers and began reading. "Attempted arson, possession of a weapon, exposing yourself, fight in the lunchroom, punching a nurse, attacking three fellow patients, verbally abusing six other patients, oh, and my personal favourite, attempted assassination of one of the security guard's children."

Dean blinked. "I'm figuring all this can't be good."

"Good is the _last_ thing I'd call it," she snarled. "It's quite extensive for a mental patient, especially considering this is only the file for the last month."

"That definitely can't be good," Dean muttered.

"Do you realize," she began, her tone becoming sharp with annoyance and impatience, "that every time you act indecently, I have to write one of these files?" She tossed the papers onto the pile and crossed her arms. "I am sick to death of this and speak for all of the staff in this ward when I say that they are as well."

Dean swallowed warily and said, "This has to be some sort of mistake..."

Letting out a sound similar to a snort, Beclyn turned towards a large window which overlooked a grassy field.

Leaning against the frame, she harshly scowled, "I can promise you that I will transfer you to another hospital the next opportunity I get."

Dean moved to her side. He expected her to back hand him or throw a punch, but instead she gazed out the window.

"Beclyn, this isn't real," Dean whispered as he closed the gap between them. "This must be one hell of a bad dream. We're together, in bed, somewhere else – not in a mental asylum."

Her eyes moved ever so slowly from the window to stare at him.

"I'm not making that mistake again," she said coldly.

A shrill beeping from the phone interrupted them.

"_You have an incoming call from ward fourteen,_" a female voice announced.

Beclyn hesitated before sighing. "Put him through." She turned to Dean. "You should go. It's almost medication time."

Dean frowned. "Beclyn, we need to talk..." he started, but was cut off as she picked up the handset.

"I'm kind of busy right now, Sam," she said into the speaker piece, waving Dean away.

His eyebrows spiked at his brother's name. What were the odds?

"Beclyn," he pressed.

"I'm with another patient at the moment," Beclyn continued, clenching her teeth. Dean didn't know whether she was talking to him or to the person on the other end of the line.

"_Beclyn_," he interrupted, becoming louder.

Beclyn shot him a nasty look before snapping into the phone, "Talk to me in a few minutes." Hanging up, she crossed her arms and snarled, "I thought I told you to leave."

"Was that Sam?" Dean questioned.

She ignored him as she shuffled the folders from the desk back into the filing cabinet.

He followed her, feeling his temper spike. "_Was that my brother_?"

Beclyn turned and glared at him. "You have quite a nerve to ask about your brother."

"Where is he?" Dean ordered, cornering her against the desk.

Fear clouded her eyes for a second before she hissed, "Like you don't already know."

He grabbed her arms, his anger almost boiling over. He had to get to Sam. "Where is my brother?" he repeated carefully.

Hesitation, and then, "Where he always is."

His eyes narrowed dangerously as his grip become tighter on her shoulders.

"Check the medication room," she said finally with a sigh. "Goodness knows he's not going anywhere else..."

- - -

**I didn't get my five reviews last time so I'm a bit depressed. I'll see how this one goes. Tell you what, the next chapter is already done. You want it, you give me five reviews. I'm counting on you guys!**


	43. Chapter 43

**This chapter is up sooner than I thought because I've got another fanfic going, but I haven't bothered updating it. Besides, no one seems to be reading it anyway. This chapter was meant to be included in the last one, but hey, I'm lazy. I don't think my beta checked this one and if she did I'm gonna rouse on her because I found heaps of mistakes. Oh well, no one's perfect. That's why I have a beta in the first place. **

**Warnings: I'll just let you find out, shall I?**

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**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 43**

After a few winding halls and a couple of wrong turns, Dean finally came to what could only be the medication room. A line of people were waiting silently in front of a plastic screen, their limbs twitching as they were prodded or shoved by batons the numerous security nurses held. There were a few tables of building blocks, crayons, and books. A television the size of a dinner plate blinked a blurry frame of black and white against the far wall. There was only one person sitting in front of the screen, but from the way the man sat with his head swaying and his mouth moving to a set of chants, Dean vouched that the guy had no idea what he was watching.

Taking a deep breath, Dean entered the room and instantly felt most of the nurses turn their attention to him. A hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind as a male nurse seethed under their breath, "No trouble from you today, hear that, Winchester?"

Feeling more uncomfortable than ever, Dean wandered towards one of the tables, carefully checking if he could see Sam without being too conspicuous. He almost bumped into a chair seating a man who was ripping pages from a book and stuffing them down his throat hungrily. Scowling, he diverted his gaze to the tabletop where several pictures were scratched into the wood. Most of them were too difficult to see, but from what he could decipher he saw a cross with blood, two black eyes, and a stick-figure woman with a snake tail for legs eating a badly-drawn child.

Sighing, Dean ran a hand through his hair and tried to think. Perhaps what Beclyn had meant by Sam being in the medication room was that he was one of the nurses, and...

"_Zero... One... Four..._"

Dean turned and saw the guy in front of the screen begin to sway more violently as his chants became louder. He could hear the clicking of the guy's teeth and the sucking sounds of his saliva between the words. He hadn't seen it before, but the guy was covered in scars. Repulsed, Dean made a sound of annoyance before making his way back to the door. A sharp clattering sound made him halt. Swishing around, he saw that the chanting man had fallen from his seat onto the floor, his limbs flailing powerlessly as he let out unintelligible cries of pain. Forgetting how disgusted he had been only moments before, Dean rushed to help the defenceless man as a set of running feet from the nurses hurried towards them.

"You okay, buddy?" Dean asked with a helpful smile as he looked at the guy's face. He instantly felt his stomach clench as he noticed the scars covered most of that as well.

A tear fell from one of the guy's eyes. Whether it was an automatic body response or if the guy was actually hurt, Dean couldn't tell.

Suddenly, something hard and heavy smashed into the back of Dean's head.

"You, Winchester," the nurse snarled as he lifted his baton for another strike, "leave your fuckin' brother alone!"

Dean barely had time to think as a hand grabbed his collar and wrenched him away from the guy. Another baton came down on his head. Six more suddenly joined as they started pounding away, beating his body so that he couldn't think or react between the strikes. Dean let out several yells of pain, hoping that he was imagining the cracking sounds which seemed an awful lot like bones breaking.

Finally, after a few more whacks, the nurses stepped back. Giving him one final shove, Dean was sent sprawling to the floor as the first nurse sneered, "Not so fuckin' tough are you now, Winchester?"

Gasping for breath and tasting blood, Dean steadied himself before climbing back to his feet. Brushing the dirt off his clothes, he could hear the scarred guy continue with his chants. Dean stopped and remembered what the nurse said before he was used for punching practice. Looking at the chanting man, Dean swallowed a nervous mouthful of saliva and blood.

_No way. No. I don't believe it. Please..._

He leant down in front of the guy and stared at the glazed, sad eyes.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, barely able to breathe.

"_Zero... One... Four..."_

Dean searched what was left of his brother's face. Even through the hideous scars, Dean could tell that his nose had been broken more than once and there were deep, white lines where something had slashed his forehead.

"Sammy, come on. Talk to me," Dean pleaded, feeling his own eyes fill.

"_Nine... Two... Three..._"

Dean wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, cursing himself for letting this happen to his little brother, if it really was his little brother.

"_Seven... Twenty... Eight..."_

"Alright, Sam," Dean muttered, patting his brother's hand. "It'll be okay. I'm gonna get us out of here. You'll be alright."

Standing, Dean walked to the doors leading to the hall. Shaking his head, he couldn't help but feel like something was watching him. Giving his brother one last glance, Dean stepped out of the room and made his way back to Beclyn's office.

Something was going to pay for what happened to his brother, and that weird, freaky look-alike was going to tell him everything he wanted to know whether she liked it or not.

* * *

**So we've got a little bit of a plot going on at Dean's end of the stick while Beclyn is still hankering away with her part. Where's poor Sammy in all of this? **

**Hopefully only a few more chapters to go!**


	44. Chapter 44

**And here's the next chapter. Nice and short because I'm lazy. Don't worry, the next chapter will be longer. I've been spending most of my time playing the Sims 3. I have a rockstar of a sim who obsessively wants to kiss people. If anyone has any modified Sims stuff, please send it my way. Oh, and my sister has me hooked on Deviant Art. I love the pictures of Dean! –shrieks in happiness—**

**. . . And I still have no life. **

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**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 44**

Sam woke with a start as the sound of someone vacuuming filtered under the door. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he gazed at the hideous cat-shaped clock on the side table. He frowned. It was a wonder Dean hadn't kicked his ass out of bed already.

Climbing to his feet, he brushed the worst of the wrinkles out of his clothes. Maybe he could go fetch Dean and Beclyn and ask if they had eaten breakfast yet. Hesitating, he wondered if any of the local cafes served breakfast after ten-thirty. Maybe it was better just going straight for lunch.

Opening the door, he walked down the hallway to Dean and Beclyn's room. Raising a fist, he knocked softly. He wasn't surprised when there wasn't an answer. He faltered as he reached for the doorknob. Maybe there was a reason they weren't answering the door. Knowing them, they had probably gone for a lusty bout of morning sex and were going to be asleep for the next few hours. How else was Dean going to apologize for kissing the kid back at the bar? Last thing Sam needed was to walk in on them naked. That was an image he could live without.

Making his way down the stairs to kitchen, he found the source of the vacuuming sounds.

"Morning, Ms. Stephanie," Sam greeted with a nod.

The elderly woman jumped, almost knocking several statues of felines over as the nozzle of the vacuum jolted.

"Oh, good morning, dear," she said with a warm smile. Turning off the vacuum, she brushed her hands on her dress. "Would you like me to make you a cup of tea, or..."

Sam shook his head. "No, thanks," he answered politely. "I was just going to go into town and check out a few of the local antique stores." A lie, but she wouldn't know any better. He was about to make his way to the front door before he turned back and asked, "Has Beclyn or Dean been up this morning?"

Ms. Stephanie frowned in thought before shaking her head. "Not that I know of, dear."

Sam shrugged. He knew his brother kept the keys to the Impala in his jacket pocket. Thank goodness he had taken it off last night and hung it over the chair without realizing.

"Oh, and another thing," Sam said, stopping again. "Do you know where the local police station is?"

Smiling, Ms. Stephanie said, "Oh, we don't have one in this town - never needed one. The closest one is a few miles up the highway."

He would start there and see if there was anything of interest, like cattle mutilations or weird cult activity. He was hoping that he wouldn't find anything. Maybe there was still some hope that their father was going to meet them.

"I'd better get going," Sam excused himself.

"I'll tell your friends you've gone into town when they wake up," Ms. Stephanie offered.

Sam smiled. "Thanks. That would be much appreciated."

As he walked away, he couldn't help but feel she was staring at him.

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**I told you it was going to be short. I'm just trying to piece things together before someone throws a chair at me. Like it – nay, yay? I know people are reading this story. If I got a review from every fifth person, I would be thrilled. Even if it was just a one-word review. In fact, let's see how many people can send me one-worded reviews –pokes out tongue--. **


	45. Chapter 45

** Another day, another chapter. I really wanna start moving this along. Okay... So, aliens come along and they all die. The End. Okay... Maybe not. The next part of this story is a Smallville crossover because I don't think there's enough of them. Well, not like how I'm going to do it anyway. Which means... --drum roll-- a twin of our most-loved handsome man. Sorry, Sammy. Maybe he can hook-up with one of his other freak-show characters later. For those Beclyn-haters, cheer-up. Maybe I'll kill her off before the next story or something. **

** But now, just to make my job harder, I'm going to deepen this psychotic plot just a little bit more. Let me know what you think.**

** Warning: adult themes, taser-usuage (oh, and have you ever tried one of those zappy pens you can get at the store? Priceless.)  
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**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 44**

Dean didn't know what he was going to say once he was back in the lookalike's office. Most of his thoughts were revolving around Sammy being in a mental institution and him being unable to contact the real Beclyn.

Marching through the white hall, he finally found her office. The door slammed against the wall as he stomped up to her desk and placed his hands on the table.

"Can I help you?" Beclyn's lookalike asked coldly, her face marred by an impatient expression as she quickly tried to shift papers into a folder.

"Why is my brother like that?" Dean demanded.

Beclyn's gaze shifted uneasily to the open office door.

"Don't bother calling for security," he snapped, forcing her attention back to him.

Her eyes narrowed. "If you wish to make a session in which we can discuss your feelings, then I can try and..."

"_No_," Dean said sternly. "I want to know now."

Beclyn let out an exasperated sigh. "Don't we all?" she snarled under her breath.

"Look, all I'm trying to do is..." Dean started but was cut off by Beclyn.

"I know what you're trying to do!" she yelled, standing. "It's what you've been trying to do for the last few years." She crossed her arms and glared at him. "How long is it going to take you to realize that you're in here for the long haul?"

"I don't care about me!" Dean hissed. "I care about Sa..."

"Sam... Your brother?" she finished for him. She rolled her eyes sarcastically and said, "Let me guess what you're going to say... '_I really care about him_', '_I want me and him to be a family again_', '_I'm his protector and he's the protected_'..." She waved a finger under his nose, infuriated. "Well, let me ask you something, Mr. Winchester. How many people do that to their little brothers?"

Dean pushed her finger away, irritated. He wished he could snap it. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the person who put him in here in the first place," she snarled, pressing her hands to the desk. "Why don't you stop accusing everybody else and take a good look at yourself. Ask why you would set your own brother on fire!"

Something dark and heavy settled over Dean's chest. He paused and then shook his head. "No, you've got to be..."

"There's no point in denying it," Beclyn snapped. "You bragged to everyone when you came here about how you bashed and slashed your highly successful brother's face before trapping him inside his burning apartment."

Dean took a step back, his face paling. A sharp pain stabbed at his heart, making him choke. It was unbelievable that he would ever cause Sam pain; just the idea was enough to cripple him.

"And now you've come running back in here for the second time trying to tell me that you care for him..." Beclyn continued, shaking her head. "I'm not falling for it again. You almost ruined my career last time I tried to comfort you..."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by '_comfort'_?"

For the first time since stepping into the office, Beclyn blushed.

Dean's eyes widened in understanding. "We had sex."

Beclyn's head snapped up accusingly. "I wouldn't have done it if I knew you were going to go straight to the media proclaiming that I use my patients' weaknesses for my own pleasure!"

Feeling like he had just been slapped, Dean said, "I wouldn't do that..."

"Oh, yeah?" she snarled, placing her hands on her hips. "Explain that to all the boards I had to answer to and the families I had to reassure." She bit her lip to keep it from quivering. "I still can't even go shopping for fear that I might get attacked by the people who believed you."

He watched as she slunk back to her seat, looking exhausted and withdrawn. He cringed when she turned her office chair away from him and muttered, "It would be best if you just left, Mr. Winchester."

Feeling as tired as Beclyn looked, Dean went to walk out the door, but something stopped him. There was an open file on the desk nearby. Glancing over it curiously, he felt his breath catch. A short hand-written note was lying on top of the small pile of papers. Snatching it up, he walked out the door before the lookalike could notice. Ducking through an open door a few hallways away, he read the note, thankful that no one was around.

_Nurse Director,_

_These are the papers for patient 014 923. I think Ms. Jones has serious potential for full recovery. Please see attached release forms._

_Signed, Sam W._

Folding the paper in half and tucking it into his shirt, Dean clenched his teeth. He leaned against the door frame, rubbing his hands over his face. Suddenly, something behind him stirred. Spinning around, he surveyed the hall. Empty. For some reason he thought he'd heard a child sobbing.

He had to get out of there and find the other Sam. Even if it wasn't his little brother, it was time to get some real answers before he really lost his mind.

- - -

**So, I have the next chapter done. Not putting it up yet though, unless I get enough reviews.**

**Okay, just to be different, I don't wanna hear about how 'interesting' or 'good' my chapter is this week. This time, I wanna know about YOU. Everyone tell me what their favourite food is and why, or just tell me something about yourself. Flames are still allowed. You know, because it's about time I was a bit different. Let's see how many people answer to this.  
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	46. Chapter 46

**So I'm back again. For the 46****th**** time. I screwed up with the last chapter. It's labelled as Chapter 44 but the one before it is meant to be chapter 44. Oh, well. No one's perfect. No one even reads the chapter number anyway. It's just a label that I can quick-check to see what I'm up to. Either that or I've really screwed up my chapters and this one will be completely out of line and purely nuts. Then again, they've all been like that recently. **

**Thank you to all that reviewed last chapter. I also love meat pies and ice-cream. I heard some interesting stories about camps, sunburn, and the movie Friday the 13****th****. **

**So, because I screwed up the chapters, it's THIS chapter which has the taser usage, swearing, and all the other reasons why you're here reading this. **

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**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 46**

Beclyn paced the room, deep in thought. Sam sighed and clasped his hands in his lap.

"I swear I heard Dean's voice in that phone call," Beclyn stated for the tenth time since barging into Sam's office.

Sam opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but Beclyn cut him off. "Don't try to argue with me, Sam. I'm _not_ crazy."

Lifting a hand to his chin, Sam said, "Well, perhaps I should start thinking the way you do... Maybe Dean's ghost was talking over the phone line. Maybe he was trying to order some pizza."

Beclyn stopped and placed her hands on her hips. "You're making fun of me now?"

Sam sat up and moved his hands to the desk. "Dean Winchester is dead. The only way he could possibly have talked on that phone line was if he was a ghost or someone else was imitating his voice."

Rolling her eyes, Beclyn walked up to the desk and glared at him. He watched her patiently. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she ordered, "Let me talk to this Nurse Director you were talking to before. Maybe she'll know something about him."

Sam shook his head. "The Nurse Director is a very busy woman. She runs the hospital and the top ward. I'm one of the main doctors in this clinic and I barely have clearance to speak to her. Look..." He picked up a pen and pulled out a post-it note. "... Maybe I can arrange for a meeting with her or to have some files sent up."

Beclyn marched to the desk and snatched the pen from his fingers. "Let's not bother her," she quickly said when he gave her a surprised look. "If anything I should be trying to get out of here."

The expression on Sam's face instantly changed to joy. "That's the spirit!" he said happily. "The sooner you accept the need for recovery and learn to readapt to society, the easier things will be. Trust me." Standing he made his way around the desk and placed an arm around her shoulders. "Why don't you and I go for a walk?" he offered.

He chuckled when she raised an eyebrow. "We're just going to the front desk," he stated as he massaged her shoulders slightly. It made her feel nervous. "You've got to try and build some muscle up again. Besides, maybe those papers have come in for your release."

He led her out the door of his office and into the elevator. The doors groaned shut, and the elevator made its slow, shaky way down the floors. Beclyn hadn't noticed before how unsafe it was. The doors opened laboriously, revealing a bare entrance hall. The only pieces of furniture in the room were a desk and a chair, where a blonde-haired nurse perched. Beclyn wondered if the girl had ever seen daylight.

"Morning, Jan," Sam heartily greeted the nurse.

The nurse glanced up and blushed shyly. Beclyn raised an eyebrow, wondering how long the young nurse had had a crush on Sam.

Sam leaned against the desk, flashing a charming grin. "I was just wondering if I had any new reports in my pigeon-hole."

The nurse was up in a flash, a little too eager to please. As she scurried through a white door behind the desk, Beclyn turned on Sam.

"Girlfriend of yours?" she asked.

Something sharp and unfriendly flashed across his face. "No," he answered quickly, turning to her.

Beclyn's eyebrow rose further as colour marked his cheeks. Maybe he returned the nurse's feelings.

A few seconds later, the nurse was hurrying back, her arms empty. "I'm sorry, Doctor," she apologized, embarrassed.

"It's okay." Sam kept his eyes on Beclyn as he ran a hand through his hair. When he finally managed to pull his gaze away, he asked, "Has your day been busy, Jan?"

The nurse flushed a deeper red and stuttered her one-worded answer as she fiddled with a stapler on the desk.

Sam ignored her embarrassment, asking a few more questions to deepen the small-talk. As the discussion took hold and the nurse finally managed to choke out answers longer than one syllable, Beclyn turned away. She wasn't interested in Sam's flirting. Besides, there was another sound in the room which she hadn't noticed before.

Stepping further away from the desk, she listened harder. There was an open room tucked just down the hallway. Approaching it, Beclyn noticed it was pitch-black inside. Shaking her head, she was about to turn away. She stopped. Something was inside. She could hear it crying. It sounded like a child, but she couldn't be sure.

The sobbing grew into a frightened wail as Beclyn stared at the open door. Something was in that room. No kid would make those sounds unless they were being beaten... or worse. She turned to Sam. He continued his conversation with the blonde at the reception desk. How could he not hear the cries?

"Sam," she interrupted, stepping towards him. He didn't look up. "_Sam,_" she repeated, her voice strained with alarm.

A sharp cry from the room dragged Beclyn's attention back to whatever was inside. Something stirred in the doorway, but the darkness obstructed her vision. Very slowly two feet emerged from the shadows. Beclyn watched, horrified and fascinated as a young woman appeared.

Long, red hair fell down the woman's back as half her body stepped out of the shadows. For a second she turned to Beclyn and grinned maliciously before the rest of her moved from the darkness. She looked like an average person, but there was something greedy and lethal radiating from her. As she pulled her hand from the room, Beclyn noticed something was attached to it, desperately trying to stay in the darkness. A hand. The woman was tugging a child's hand. The sobbing heightened as a crying girl was yanked from the room. She didn't look older than seven or eight with her tangled hair and over-sized clothes.

As the woman pulled the girl down the hallway, the child struggled feebly, trying to get away. The girl's gaze flew around the room, searching for help. Her eyes darted off the walls and onto Beclyn.

"_Please_..." the little girl cried. "_Please... Save me from the witch!_"

Beclyn felt her chest seize up as the woman reached out and grabbed the child's messy blonde mane. The girl began screaming as her hands clawed at the fingers entwined in her hair. They were almost to the end of the hallway. If Beclyn was the only one that could see them, then...

"Stop!" Beclyn yelled, darting after the woman as she disappeared round the corner. Sam finally noticed Beclyn running, but she ignored him as he called her name. Her legs felt stiff as she rushed down the hall. She didn't want to know what was going to happen to that girl if she couldn't reach her in time. All that mattered was...

Beclyn winced as she smacked into someone. Almost losing her balance, she reached out and grabbed the person's shoulder. She glanced up and felt the breath rush from her lungs.

"_Dean?_" she breathed disbelievingly.

Dean looked at her, his mouth slightly agape. "Beclyn?" he asked, unsure.

She clutched onto his shirt, feeling her legs go weak.

_He's alive_.

Something grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her back. Dean let out a cry as her fingers were ripped from his clothing. He reached for her, but a door slammed between them.

"_Code Red_!" Sam roared, his arms closing around Beclyn protectively. "Dean Winchester has escaped! Get security over here!"

"What are you doing?" she demanded as she fought his grasp. "That's Dean in there. It's _Dean!_"

"We need security!" Sam continued to yell. He turned to the now terrified-looking nurse. "Get the fucking security right now! Dean Winchester is loose!"

Beclyn tried to grab onto the door, but there was nothing to hold onto. She could hear the poundings on the other side as Dean tried to get to them.

Sam's grip loosened to fully turn to the nurse. "What are you waiting for? Get security!"

"No!" Beclyn snarled, thrusting him aside. "Dean's alive. We need to get to him!"

"Don't open that door!" Sam ordered as she clawed at the only barrier between her and Dean. "He'll kill us if he gets in here!"

Blue-uniformed guards appeared at the end of the hall, hurrying towards them.

_Dean's alive... _Beclyn's thoughts cut short as a security guard ripped open the door and fired a taser at the person on the other side.

She watched as Dean went down on his knees, roaring with pain as his body convulsed. She felt Sam's arms wrap around her again, hugging her to him.

"I knew I should've killed him when I had the chance," Sam murmured into her ear.

The convulsions ceased. Dean let out a long groan, lifting his head just enough to look at Beclyn. His head fell back to the floor, his eyes glazed with pain.

"Why are you doing this to him?" Beclyn whimpered through a gasp.

Sam closed his eyes. "Because he's a murderer, Beclyn. He wouldn't hesitate to kill us. He didn't hesitate to try and kill me a few years go."

Beclyn felt her body tense. "But he's your brother."

"Not anymore," he stated before narrowing his eyes. "He's a monster now."

- - -

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**Interesting enough yet? No idea where the story is going even though I was meant to have finished it by now? Don't worry, you're not alone. I'm kind of cutting loose the last few frayed edges. Look out for that last chapter where the real shite hits the fan. **

**I guess I'd better do another random thing for reviews this week. I wouldn't mind hearing a ghost story, actually. So if anyone has had a paranormal experience or just knows a good yarn then throw it my way. If not, tell me something about yourself which not many people know. Goodness knows I'm gonna be stuck with a lot of sleepless nights from watching the Unborn anyway. **

**Look forward to hearing from you! –glomps from muah-- **


	47. Chapter 47

**So I post and then I fall asleep because I don't want to do my uni homework. I've become addicted to Sims 3. I've been playing it about 6 hours a day. I'd play it for more, but my sister gets home and screams at me about how she needs the computer for 'homework' –MSN—cough—deviantart—cough—Oh, and I also found more episodes of Fullmetal Alchemist so there goes another two days of my life. **

**So now I'm going to vacuum the floor, maybe bake an apple pie and find some other useless chores to try and keep me from my homework. XD as is life. **

**Warning: swearing, adult themes (I should just start drawing these warnings out of a hat. They're bound to be true one day.)**

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**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 47**

Dean let out a sigh, twisting against the leather restraints chaining him to the pole beside the bare bed. He didn't understand why he needed them. He was already in a room similar to a cell with the thick iron bars as walls and the ever-watching security camera in the top corner of the room. Extra precaution? He didn't do anything wrong. Well, that wasn't true. After reading the post-it note from the other Sam, he managed to escape the ward easily enough. It was like the security and nurses had just disappeared. He hadn't seen anyone on the way down to the entrance. That was until he ran into Beclyn.

Was that his Beclyn? She had looked frail and shocked. She had even been wearing the same white clothes that he was wearing. Did that make her a patient? And then there was Sam. Dean was sure he was the one who had yanked Beclyn away from him and called for security. Why would he do that?

Something clattered behind his head. Looking up as far as the restraints would allow, he turned his head to see a very angry Beclyn opening the iron door. Just one look at her clothes told him he was facing the lookalike. As if he really wanted to talk to her.

She stepped in front of him, clenching a dark-coloured clipboard. Picking a pen from her pocket, she began to scribble notes.

"Gonna tell me why I'm in here?" Dean asked hopefully as she moved to the foot of the bed. He rolled his eyes as she ignored him. "Guess not."

She walked around him, observing his posture, his expression and other things which caught her eye. He shifted uncomfortably, instantly wincing as she poked him hard with the clipboard. She looked like she'd rather smack him over the head.

Finally after several minutes of writing notes, she moved in front of him, just out of range in case he tried to kick her. If he thought he could get away with it then he would have. She wore a glare more intense than he had ever seen. Her teeth were clenched and her knuckles were white as they grasped the clipboard. Maybe she really was going to hit him.

"You screwed up, Winchester," she spat, placing the pen back in her pocket.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You don't say."

An artery bulged on her neck, but Dean didn't need to see it to know she was furious.

"It's bad enough that you tried to escape," she hissed, "but attacking another patient and a doctor..."

"Now wait a second!" Dean objected quickly. "I did not attack them. Did you even see those people?"

Beclyn opened her mouth, ready to object, but Dean beat her to the punch.

"Don't you think it's a bit strange that there's a doctor named Sam Winchester and a patient named Beclyn Jones?"

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Do you even realise that the doctor looks exactly like my brother and the patient looks like you? There's a bit of doppelganger action going on if you ask me."

A nerve twitched under her eye. Dean smirked, relieved that he was getting something through to her. She whipped out her pen and started writing.

"_Patient is delusional_," she snarled as she wrote.

"Oh, come on!" Dean hissed. He pulled his hands against the restraints, making them strain.

Beclyn leapt back, frightened. Quickly composing herself, she set the pen against the clipboard. "Winchester, you're in a lot more trouble than you think you are."

"I think I'm in trouble alright," Dean retaliated, "but it's not for the bullshit you're feeding me." He pulled against the restraints, wishing they were looser. "There is something wrong with this hospital." His temper sharpened as she began impatiently tapping the clipboard with her manicured fingernail. "How can you call yourself _normal_?" he roared.

Beclyn stopped tapping. Her lips pursed. "I know I'm normal, Mr. Winchester," she hissed, leaning down close enough to be annoying while still remaining out of reach. "And believe me, I'm going to have you transferred as soon as possible."

"You keep telling yourself that," he sneered.

Something dark and unforgiving glazed her eyes for a moment before clearing.

"You are not to move from this room," she ordered, straightening her uniform as she returned to the door. "I've told security that if they see you outside this room then they have permission to use lethal force." The door swung open. She stepped out and turned, ready to close it.

"Oh, wait, I forgot to tell you something," Dean cried out. Beclyn hesitated, her gaze narrowing. He waited until he had her full attention. "You're a screwed-up bitch," he stated.

Beclyn jabbed a button and the iron bars slammed shut, separating them.

- - -

"You _lied_ to me," Beclyn snarled, pacing the office.

Sam flinched as if she had slapped him. "Beclyn, it was for your safety."

She swivelled to face him, her expression knotted in anger. "How was it for my safety?" she demanded. "This is Dean we're talking about. He _saves_ people."

"I don't think you know who you're talking about," he said. Beclyn could see he was fighting to remain calm.

"I think I'm talking about your brother. You know, the one we just saw?"

Sam rolled his eyes. He had become less professional around her since the first visit to his office.

"Dean Winchester is a dangerous psychopath," he explained, gripping the desk he was sitting on. "He is an unstable, dissocialised maniac who only brings suffering."

"In what universe?" Beclyn snapped.

"In _this_ universe," he stated. His shoulders hunched. "If I had waited any longer to pull you away from him, he would have hurt you."

"He didn't look like he was going to hurt me."

"He doesn't have to look like anything," Sam objected. "He reached adulthood believing that it was his sole purpose to inflict pain and suffering..."

Beclyn scoffed, turning away.

"_Listen to me!_" he yelled, jumping up. He grasped her shoulders, forcing her to stay still. "Do you think I would still be alive if I had done what he told me? It is by sheer luck that I just happened to be out of town the night that he rang my apartment asking if he could come over to make amends." Releasing her shoulders, he ran a hand through his hair. "The police were telling me later that he must've been furious when he turned up on my doorstep and realised I wasn't there. They didn't know he was irrational and all-out _mental_."

"I don't get how that makes him..." Beclyn started, but hesitated as Sam turned away.

"He broke into my apartment, Beclyn. He broke anything he could touch. When that wasn't enough, he set my apartment on fire," he muttered, his voice quivering as he raised a hand to his jaw. "The police said he went berserk after that. Less than two hours later he broke into a girls' dormitory nearby." He turned to look back at her. Tears shone in his eyes. "He raped, tortured, murdered… Of the dozens of girls in the dormitory, only five came out. Three had to be put on life-support." He blinked away the tears. "Do you understand now? Dean Winchester is a monster."

"Dean isn't like that," Beclyn muttered, although the fire behind her defence had vanished.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know what you see in the murderer." He stepped forward and rubbed her shoulders gently. "Maybe we should leave this behind us and start concentrating on your release."

Beclyn bit her lip. She had been tossing an idea around in her head since seeing Dean in the hall, but...

She let out a sigh. She had to try.

"Sam?" She looked up at him.

He flashed her a warm, encouraging smile. For a second he looked like the younger Winchester she knew.

"I want to see him."

His smile vanished. He looked apprehensive. "I don't think..."

"Even if it's just for a second," she implored, grabbing onto his hands.

He looked at her, startled.

"Please," she whispered. "Maybe if I talk to him for a few minutes then I'll see what he really is, and then I'll know you were right and I'll put all my effort into being released." A lie, of course. If Dean Winchester – who might be her only hope in getting out alive – turned out to be the raging murderer Sam believed him to be, then she would tear him to pieces and demand to see another doctor. She also intended to try and find the little girl who was dragged away by the red-haired woman. Being released was her last concern right now. Which reminded her...

"I need to use your computer," Beclyn told him sternly.

Sam blinked. "Why?"

It was good that he hadn't flat-out refused. It meant she had a fighting chance.

"I just need to do some research, that's all," she said, giving the sweetest smile she could.

A soft blush crept over his cheeks. He seemed embarrassed. "Okay..." he muttered. Swinging his tall frame into a chair, he set up a professional-looking laptop and clicked a few buttons. "There you go," he stated, getting up so she could sit down.

She sat and stared at the screen. He was about to walk away, but she called him back. "Sammy..." The sweetness in her voice sickened her, but he seemed pleased by it. "... Can you do something for me?"

- - -

Several hours and a few useless sites later, Beclyn sat at the screen, rubbing her eyes. Sam had raised his eyebrows in question when she had asked him to type in the keywords to her search, but she didn't think it would help her situation if she explained herself fully. He had helped her navigate around the search engine and provided a bit of jargon. She was more than grateful when she had found what she was looking for, but that joy had been replaced with a numb revulsion as she had seen what they were up against.

She sighed and leant back in the comfy black-leather chair. She glanced over at Sam, making sure he was still asleep on the floor. So much for professionalism. She threw her gaze back to the screen. Gritting her teeth, she clicked a button, hoping that the icon she pressed was what she wanted and not the self-destruct button. She jumped as the printer on the other side of the room sprang to life. Climbing out of the seat, she approached the whirring machine. When in finally quietened, she picked up the pieces of paper.

Beclyn didn't know what she would tell Dean, or how they were going to fight it. She knew one thing for certain: she absolutely hated witches.

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**People are still reading this? Seriously? Don't you guys have a life or something to attend to? Wow, if you're still her after 47 chapters then you really are a champion. Now do me a favour and do my uni homework XD . **

**For reviews, tell me what your favourite television/anime series is and why. Now remember, we can't **_**all**_** put down Supernatural. **


	48. Chapter 48

**-- falls asleep on desk – Here's the next chapter, as promised. Now, goodnight! **

**Warning: swearing, adult themes**

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**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 48**

Beclyn quickly made her way through the white halls, ignoring the suspicious glares from security as she passed. Her fingers tightened around the wad of paper in her hands. If she gave Dean the research then he'd have a good idea what to protect himself from.

As the security became denser along the halls, Beclyn wondered if she should protect herself from whatever was waiting in Dean Winchester's cell.

"... Make sure that you don't make eye contact or any fast movements," Sam rattled off instructions nervously as he rushed to keep up with her. Beclyn had forgotten he was there. They came to the end of the hall. "Oh, and remember," he reminded, "if he goes to touch you in any way, then yell for me immediately." He grabbed her arm, slowing her down as she tried to open the last door of the hallway. He made sure she was looking at him before he said, "I mean it, okay?"

"I don't think it's going to be an issue," Beclyn started, but Sam cut her off with a hissing noise.

"Dean Winchester is a nut job," Sam pointed out, ignoring Beclyn's glare. "I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to come onto you or..." His eyes glanced to her chest. Beclyn crossed her arms, feeling more than uncomfortable. His cheeks coloured, but his grip didn't loosen. "I just don't want him invading your… 'personal bubble'. "

Beclyn shook off his hand. "I'll be fine," she told him firmly, feeling like she was reassuring a parent. "I'm only checking to see if this is the Dean I know."

Sam stared at her. "If you get into trouble, call for me, okay?"

Beclyn rolled her eyes. "I thought you said he was restrained."

"He is. I just don't know how he'll react." Sam bit his lip. Glancing at the Rolex on his wrist, he stated, "I'm giving you five minutes." Turning to the approaching security guards, his face hardened as he snapped, "Five minutes. I want all personnel on code blue lock-down. Have anyone on duty available if this turns ugly." His expression softened as he faced Beclyn. "Good luck!" he told her, flashing her a thumbs-up.

Beclyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes for the second time. If the Dean Winchester she was about to meet wasn't the one she expected then she'd have to revert to some other plan. She didn't feel the need for all the security measures. She had seen her share of psychopaths before. Besides, the Dean Winchester they were worried about would seem like a cookie-baking pansy compared to that bastard, Jamison.

The door opened automatically as Beclyn stepped forward, bringing her face to face with an iron-barred cage. The cell was bare but for a bunk bed in the centre, where a figure lay on the lower bunk. Their hands were tied to a pole in front of the bed. A speaker in the top corner of the room crackled to life.

"_You have five minutes_."

There was a loud, blaring beep before the iron cage rattled open. Beclyn gulped as she stepped through the opening. The door closed, trapping her inside with the figure.

Nothing stirred inside the cell. She heard him breathing softly, as if he were snoozing. Knowing better than to let her guard down, she stepped forward. The figure had their head turned away. So far he looked like Dean, but if she were just able to see his eyes, then…

"I get it already," the figure snapped suddenly. "You're gonna transfer me the moment you can. But if your word meant anything then you would've done it already."

Beclyn's eyes narrowed in suspicion and disgust. She hadn't been in the room a minute yet and the moron was trying to blow her off.

"Well?" the figure demanded, their head still turned away. "What are you waiting for? Oh, don't tell me – you're too afraid to do it."

"Stuff transferring you," Beclyn snarled. "If you're not Dean Winchester, I'm gonna snap off every one of your limbs and shove them up your ass."

The figure's head snapped around, their eyes wide. "Beclyn?"

Beclyn's eyes narrowed further. "How do I know you're Dean Winchester?"

The figure looked like they had been slapped. "Is Sam okay?"

"Nice try," Beclyn hissed, "but not good enough." She took a step back and thought for a moment. "If you really are Dean, what do I hate the most?"

The figure adopted a thoughtful expression, as if racking their brain. Hesitating, he finally said, "Witches."

"Good," Beclyn spat, not at all glad, "because that's what we're up against."

Dean leaned as far forward as the restraints would allow. "We're up against witches?"

"Just one," Beclyn said, tapping the wad of papers. "A lamia."

Groaning, Dean closed his eyes and leant his head against the side of the bed. "Brilliant," he muttered sarcastically.

"I saw it before," Beclyn continued, beginning to pace.

Dean's eyes opened. "You saw it?"

Beclyn began biting at a fingernail. "She was taking a kid somewhere…"

"Whoa, whoa, let's just get this straight," Dean interrupted. "We're talking a lamia, right? As in real-life, kid-eating snake creature that likes to indulge in the dark arts kind of thing?"

"Not to mention one of the most dangerous and hard-to-find witches known to man," Beclyn added with a scowl.

"What about Sam?" Dean asked, gesturing towards the door. "How's he taking all of this?"

"It's not him," Beclyn said with a sigh. "Just some make-believe doctor wannabe."

"Yeah, there's one like that who's running around with your face," Dean told her.

"Fan-fuckin'-tastic," Beclyn groaned.

Shifting, Dean looked at the papers before throwing his glance at her. "So what's the plan?"

Hesitating, Beclyn said, "We're escaping."

"Yeah, because that sounds so easy…" Dean started mordantly.

"We'll find a way," Beclyn snarled. "We've just gotta get out before this thing comes down on us."

Dean turned away, thinking. After a few minutes of silence he mumbled, "Do you think Sam's okay?"

Beclyn shrugged. "I dunno."

"If that bitch dares lay a hand on my little brother…"

"Dean," Beclyn interrupted harshly, "this is Sam we're talking about."

The speaker in the top corner suddenly sparked to life. "_You have two minutes._"

Scowling, Beclyn crossed her arms and leant against the pole restraining Dean's hands. "I think I should be worrying about the other Sam for the time being." She sighed as Dean raised an eyebrow. "He can't keep his eyes where they should be."

It was Dean's turn to scowl. "If he touches you, you tell me straight away."

A smirk flitted across Beclyn's face. "Yeah, because you will be so helpful, all tied up." Turning, she waved her free hand to the security camera. The barred door rattled open. Her head slowly turned back to face Dean. "We're leaving this place. Soon."

Dean nodded, his eyes dark. "Oh, Beclyn, wait," he said as soon as she began to walk away.

She paused, tilting her head.

"Don't let that Sam-imposter get more from you than I've been getting, alright?"

He felt the wad of papers smack into the back of his head.

Dean smirked. That was his Beclyn, alright.

- - -

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**And then Dean undid the restraints and stripped off naked for ME! … No? Okay, fine. I'm still hoping to finish this story soon. I mean, the next one is going to be so much fun to write! Make sure you stay tuned!**


	49. Chapter 49

**It's the final countdown! –dances—Hopefully we're only five chapters away from the finish. If not, I'm gonna be here for another year. Uni is killing me. Whenever I think of group work I get the idea of me sleeping at a desk while all of my lovely peers do the work for me. Somehow that vision has turned into a nightmare with me scrambling around just trying to find out what the subject's on. **

**Story time: I had a nightmare about the Grudge the other night so I thought I could calm myself down by looking up chibi pictures of Kayako and just all-round nice stuff. Instead, I found this little Japanese animation with a different black-haired chick. Not only did this thing scare the crap out of me, but I went back to having nightmares. Fabulous. I think it's called Hikiko so look it up.**

**Warning: swearing, adult themes. Man, I'm sick of writing these warnings. I'm gonna toss in Dean naked just for fun –throws pantsless Dean into warning--. Now the fangirls turn rabid. **

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**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 49**

"You frigging bastard!" Sam swore as he angrily threw the police files on the bed.

He had been so hopeful that their father was going to be waiting for them. He had been encouraged by the lack of crime and paranormal signs in the town. As he ran a shaking hand through his shaggy hair he realised there had been a gig all along. When he had researched the paranormal activity around the area he had only been one postcode off.

There was a long streak of kidnappings on the outside of town. Technically it was outside the township, but it was close enough to make a few minor headlines in the local paper. The police had already pieced together a connection. Every twenty years eight young children would disappear. The kidnappings branched as far back as local history had been documented. The most recent kidnappings were over a fortnight before they had received the text from John. It made Sam feel uncomfortable. Certainly other hunters must have realised the case reeked of evil. Or worse yet, maybe other hunters had seen the connection and disappeared with the other victims.

Quickly making his way out to the hallway, he knocked on Dean and Beclyn's door. He needed their help. Dean would know what to do and Beclyn would have the determination to do it. He just didn't know how he was going to break the news about their father to Dean. It was obvious his brother had been excited about the prospect of seeing their dad again. Of course, now Dean was going to be a moping, solitary dick for a few days, but Sam preferred that over him being unaware of the danger they were in. He wished his father was there, not for help with the case, but so he could punch his lights out. The bastard deserved far more pain than he could inflict. Rapping his knuckles harder against the door, he wondered if his brother already knew their father wasn't turning up.

"Dean, it's me," Sam told the closed door after several minutes of pointless knocking. "I've got something to tell you. Open up."

No answer.

Digging into his jacket pocket, Sam grabbed a paperclip. The idea of breaking into his brother's room was ludicrous, but he couldn't ignore the swelling panic he felt. Glancing down the hall, he checked no one was around before beginning to work at the lock.

"Would you like some help, dear?"

Sam gasped and leapt back from the door. Turning, his eyes widened as he noticed Ms. Stephanie's curious stare from behind him.

Offering an innocent smile, Sam explained, "I forgot my brother had something of mine. I was just checking to see if the door was unlocked."

Ms. Stephanie's gaze fell to his hands. "You were checking with a paperclip?"

Sam's smile wavered as he quickly racked his brain for an excuse. "It's an old trick Dean taught me."

"Well, if that's the case then I think I have a spare key somewhere in the cellar," Ms. Stephanie offered, friendly warmth returning to her words. "I hope you don't mind helping me. It's on top of some old cupboards and I'm afraid my shoulders just aren't what they used to be."

Nodding gratefully, Sam fell into step beside her. "I really don't mean to trouble you," he apologised, walking down the stairs to the kitchen, "it's just that my brother never sleeps past midday and…" He stopped. Dean _never_ slept past midday.

"Sorry, what were you saying, dear?" Ms. Stephanie asked, opening the cellar door beside the oven. She stood aside, waiting for him to enter.

Pausing, Sam waited a few steps out of her reach. His heart was thumping painfully in his chest. His hands shook.

"Something wrong?" Ms. Stephanie inquired with a smile.

Sam bit his lip. "Oh, I was just wondering," he began casually, his heart racing faster, "how long did you say you've been living here?"

She didn't blink. "A little while now."

Sam swallowed nervously. "And how many visitors did you say you get?"

A smirk appeared on Ms. Stephanie's lips. "_Sammy,_" she said calmly, her voice no longer sounding elderly, "you should have just gone into the cellar."

Sam cried out as something smacked into the back of his head. Falling to his knees, he turned to see a gigantic serpent tail branching from the wall. Glancing back to Ms. Stephanie, he watched in horror as long red hair enveloped her head and spread down her back. The wrinkles across her face and arms vanished as her skin tightened at the scalp. What used to be her legs had morphed into a scaly, snake-like torso.

Sam glanced frantically around the room, trying to find an item to defend himself with. Fear stiffened his limbs as a finger curled around his chin, forcing his head upwards. He struggled helplessly as piercing blue eyes met his own.

"Ah, Sammy," the lamia crooned, tenderly running a fingernail over his bottom lip, "for a cutie, you're not all that smart."

A sudden blow, and Sam's world flashed white before darkness consumed him.

- - -

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**So we have some major plot development going on. FINALLY. Story's almost finished! YAY! And then I have to move onto the next one. NOOOO. I'm a bit worried that no one will read the next one. But, hey, I'm the type of person who is thrilled when I get two reviews. –blinks back tears of joy—I'm luved! **


	50. Chapter 50

**So here's the next bit to the cliff-hanger. I'm so lazy. **

**Really nearing the end now. Yes, I know I've said that for the last twenty-five chapters, and yes, I do know that I tend to fib a lot. For my sanity's sake, it better be finished soon. **

**I shall dot point my life revelations thus far this week:**

**- New music for the season five trailer (O Death) - LOVE IT!**

**- Been hooked back onto Desperate Housewives. Never. Trusting. Husbands. Again. **

**- Shaved the dog. More hair than dog. Still trying to find dog. **

**- Had a good dream about Dean Winchester. Woke up from choking on drool. **

**Warnings: swearing, gore, adult themes, dead kids. **

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**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 50**

"Ah, Sammy," the lamia said with a sigh. She looked down at the sprawled figure, licking her lips as she pondered the taste of the sensuous flesh. It was a pity to waste such a gorgeous man. All the other hunters had been old, rude and smelly. But this one… She had barely been able to contain her hideous, wrinkled form from morphing into the red-haired beauty she was the evening Sam Winchester had wandered into her clutches. His brother had been darling too, but it was more than obvious to see he was attached to the dark-haired slut. Beclyn Jones didn't live up to the rumours spread by the other paranormal creatures. She looked as pathetic as any other human. But it wasn't like she was about to waste a perfectly good opportunity. She was old enough to know fetching the corpse of Beclyn Jones was sure to make her a star in any demon's eyes. Perhaps they would worship her with gifts of tasty children or brain-dead males. The idea was delicious.

"I'm so lucky," she purred, leaning closer to Sam. "The Winchesters and Beclyn Jones all tossed into a neat little package, just for me." Her eyes flickered over his body, savouring the eye candy. "Well, waste not, want not."

She reached below his head, turning him onto his back. She wanted to force her tongue into his mouth and test the juices. Maybe she would create a special delusion only for him. A human was tastiest at the point of ecstasy.

"Sammy," she whispered, lowering her face to his as she closed her eyes, "how would you like to be my lover tonight?"

"Not in your lifetime."

The lamia's eyes shot open as something sharp stabbed into her neck. Her fingers curled around the weapon and pulled it from her flesh; a shard from the glass jar she had broken over his head. She reared back, screaming as deep green blood poured from the wound. Sam was sitting up, a smirk across his face.

"You little bastard!" she shrieked at him, spluttering as blood trickled from her lips. A wave of dizziness swept over her. It was then she remembered what potion had been in the glass jar. "_Fuck_," she swore drowsily. Her eyes shut for a moment as she desperately fought the oncoming delusions. She felt another stabbing pain in her gut. Her eyes opened as slits as she glanced to her stomach. Green, bloody innards had fallen onto the kitchen floor. She felt bile rise in her throat as she tried her best to pull them back into herself. Another moment of darkness as her eyes shut, another lethal stabbing pain in her shoulder.

She knew she was dying but was too tired to defend herself as Sam Winchester slashed into her. She couldn't open her eyes again. She didn't want to see what was left of her body. She could still feel the agony from the cuts. Maybe if she slept for just a moment, she could wake up and destroy the little bastard. Just a little nap. Just a moment of peace.

Just a…

- - -

Beclyn let out a cry as she shot up in bed. A bright light blinded her as she wiped a hand over her eyes. A loud banging noise was infiltrating her thoughts. Dazed and confused, she stood, waiting for the security guards or the doctors to push her back onto the bed.

She had to get Dean and run. She had to get out before the lamia killed them. She swore as her leg bumped against something, causing several cat statues to fall to the floor.

She blinked. Cat statues?

Turning, she gazed at the double bed. Dean was still on one side, his breathing laboured as he slept.

"Dean?" she whispered, pulling herself back onto the bed. He didn't stir. She grabbed onto his shirt and shook him slightly. "Dean? Dean, come on! Wake up!" His eyes didn't open.

Bunching her hand into a fist, she punched his face with frantic intensity. His eyes opened instantly.

"What the f…" he cried out.

"Thank God," Beclyn muttered, relieved. She automatically became impatient. Smacking his chest, she ordered, "Get up."

The sound of heavy pounding from the door caught her attention.

"Dean! Beclyn! Are you guys okay?" she heard Sam's voice call through the door.

"Sam…?" Dean croaked, wincing.

"We're fine," Beclyn yelled out, helping Dean sit up, "but there's a lamia somewhere. We've got to…"

"I've already taken care of it," Sam answered, sounding shaky.

Beclyn breathed a sigh as Dean wiped the sleep from his eyes. At least he was okay.

"Oh, and guys?" Sam continued, letting out a low whistle. "You're not gonna believe what I found in the cellar."

- - -

Sam had been hesitant to enter the cellar for fear of what he might find. It was like a horror story, pushing past hanging body-bags in the dimly lit room. He had known at the back of his mind that only children could fit in such small bags, but didn't want to ponder the consequences of opening one. He had been lucky to stumble upon the tiny room below the cellar. Inside there had been two young boys. Although they had been down in the cramped room for several weeks, all they wanted to know was if their little sister was okay.

The police had found the girl's body two hours later.

Several hours had passed. He watched from the concealing safety of the massive oak tree as the police scurried around the home. Beclyn and Dean stood by the Impala, not daring to talk. The gig had been hard on all of them. Jobs involving children's corpses were always the hardest.

"We should go," Dean stated after several minutes of silence. "This thing will be better after a good night's sleep."

Beclyn crossed her arms and frowned. "I've had more sleep than I need in a lifetime," she answered tartly.

Throwing her a reprimanding glare, Dean turned to his brother. "Sam, come on. There's no point standing around here."

Shrugging, Sam made his way to the car. "This whole thing was crap from the beginning," he muttered, kicking at the dirt.

"You think you had it bad?" Dean said, trying to find something to lighten to mood. "I was stuck with a crazy bitch-face. She had the whole insane thing perfected."

"Not as bad as dealing with Doctor Winchester," Beclyn objected quickly.

"Doctor what?" Sam asked, climbing into the passenger seat of the car.

"Doctor you, apparently." Dean cracked a grin.

Beclyn climbed into the backseat of the car. Sam let out a cry as she suddenly punched him in the arm.

"What the hell was that for?" Sam winced, rubbing his arm.

"For your look-a-like and his libido. Freak couldn't keep his eyes off me," Beclyn explained with a snarl.

Sam frowned. "Yeah, but that wasn't me!"

"Makes me feel better, all the same."

Dean chuckled as he pulled himself into the driver's seat. "Sammy's getting beaten up by a girl."

"Don't make me rip off your testicles, Dean," Beclyn warned.

A high-pitched ringing abruptly filled the car. Both boys dug into their pockets, pulling out their phones. Dean's face fell as he realised it wasn't his.

Clicking a button, Sam placed the phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

Beclyn and Dean leaned closer, trying to hear the voice on the other end. Sam swatted them away.

"Oh, hey, Sarah!" he cried out, a wide grin spreading over his face. "How are y… Oh, what?"

Dean frowned. Something told him it wasn't a casual phone call.

"So you've got it there with you?" Sam continued, his grin fading. "Yeah, we can take a look at it."

Beclyn threw a questioning glance at Dean.

"I guess we'll see you there then. Okay, bye." He closed the phone and let out a sigh.

Dean looked from his brother to the phone, back to his brother. "Dude, what the hell?" he snapped.

"That was Sarah," Sam stated, his brow furrowing. "She said that something just came through her work which we would be very interested in. I told her we'd meet her in New York."

"Oh, brilliant, Sam," Dean muttered sarcastically. "We have to drive all the way to New York just so you can hook up with an old flame…"

"It's not that!" Sam protested. "She said this thing was really important. Maybe it's another picture or she's captured a demon or something."

"Yeah, well," Dean muttered with a scowl, turning on the ignition before pulling the Impala onto the main road. "I think the only thing she's trying to catch is you."

- - -

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**Plot twist, anyone? Thank you to the people who reviewed. I love you all in a nonsexual way. Here, have a cookie. **

**Here's a little review competition for you: what would be the funniest thing Sarah makes Sam come to New York for? **


	51. Chapter 51

**--rolls off chair and groans—I just ate this huge serving of pavlova and chocolate. Sugar on top of sugar. Murrr. I had to go out and buy a cooling pad for my laptop because it kept shutting down whenever I wanted to play Sims 3. Grr to my laptop. Worthless piece of expensive crap! **

**Warning: Probably swearing. Probably adult themes. I'll make the next chapter a good one to make up for the lack of warnings. **

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**Deadly Betrayal**

**Chapter 51**

The drive to New York was long and hardly bearable. The tense, heavy weight of the last gig had a firm grasp on the hunters' thoughts. Several times Dean had been close to suggesting that they all get away for a while. Perhaps a holiday or a small break would help clear their minds, but he had faltered each time. Hunters didn't take breaks and couldn't afford holidays. It was something his father had taught him as a boy.

The father he had desperately hoped would meet them several hundred miles ago.

It took most of Dean's strength not to be bitter. The eldest Winchester was a busy man. Dean could understand if his father had been called away to a gig at the last moment or had run into more pressing issues that needed to be taken care of. At least he hoped John Winchester had been preoccupied. The idea that the coordinates had only been a job made Dean's stomach clench. The only real reassurance he had about he and his brother seeing their father again was the vision Sam had had several months before. If Sam had been wrong and they could never see their father again… Dean didn't want to think about the consequences. It would drive him insane – something he didn't want to happen now that he had seen what a mental asylum was like, even if it had just been a delusion.

Dean loosened his grip on the steering wheel. They were getting close to where Sarah had told them to meet her. Stealing a glance at his brother, Dean chuckled. "Feeling a little tense there, Sammy?"

Sam jumped in his seat, distracted. "What?"

A smirk flitted across Dean's face. "You should look in the mirror. You're as white as a ghost."

Sam wrinkled his nose distastefully. "I'm just nervous about what Sarah's got to show us. And don't call me Sammy."

"Are you sure you're not worried about seeing Sarah again?"

Beclyn leaned forward from the backseat. "What is it with this girl and you anyway?" Her gaze flicked between the boys before focussing on Sam. "So you slept together, what's the problem?" she growled when no one answered.

"We didn't sleep together!" Sam cried out before composing himself. Trying to act indifferent, he shrugged. "It's… complicated."

"Well, you'd better un-complicate things quick," Dean announced, pulling the Impala into a parking spot. "I do believe that's Sarah over there."

Sarah was waiting underneath a large, leafy evergreen tree as kids played in the park beside her. She blended in well with light-blue jeans and a loose, white top.

Dean watched as the rest of the colour drained from Sam's face. "Not gonna back out on us after you told us we had to come, are ya, Sammy?"

Sam opened the door and climbed out of the Impala, ignoring Dean's teasing.

"Oh, this ought to be good," Beclyn muttered under her breath, joining Sam.

Dean quickly followed, grinning from ear to ear. He didn't know what was more amusing – Sam almost passing out from nerves or Sarah trying to pretend she hadn't heard the Impala roll up even though she was well within hearing-range.

"Hey, Sarah!" Dean called before his brother could bail.

Sarah turned, politely feigning surprise as her cherry lip-glossed lips turned upwards into a smile. "Hi, Dean." She carefully threw her gaze to the taller Winchester. She bit her lip nervously. "Hi, Sam."

Sam threw a nervous smile back, lost for words. "Hi… Sarah."

Dean watched, trying not to smirk as he watched his brother and Sarah gaze at each other for a few moments longer than necessary. Their attention snapped back to reality when Beclyn cleared her throat.

"Oh, you haven't met Beclyn," Sam said quickly, grabbing Beclyn's shoulder to push her forward. "She's with us."

Sarah blinked, her smile faltering. Her eyebrows knotted apprehensively as she asked, "By with you, you mean…?"

Sam's smile dropped instantly. "Oh, no, not like that!" he cried out, letting out an embarrassed laugh. "She's kind of… You know… Uhh…"

Dean stepped forward. "I think it's more like she's with me," he offered, trying to alleviate the situation.

"Well, not _with_ him," Beclyn countered suddenly. She turned to Dean, glaring. Sarah looked at Dean, her face still twisted in confusion.

"Not _with_ me," Dean corrected. "It's more casual than a normal relationship…"

"You see, I was kidnapped by these two…" Beclyn began to explain.

"Not _kidnapped_ exactly," Dean jumped in, "she kind of just tagged along…"

"Unwillingly," Beclyn added sourly.

"So it's a bit different than being a girlfriend and boyfriend," he continued, noticing that both Sam and Sarah were throwing quizzical glances at each other.

"Not that we're girlfriend and boyfriend. I mean, we're not even dating," Beclyn pointed out.

"It's…" Dean started.

"…Complicated," Beclyn finished.

They turned away from each other, not daring to share their awkwardness. Sam's jaw fell open, dazed. Sarah giggled to mask her uncertainty.

No one said anything for several long moments.

"So…" Sarah began, clearing her throat. "I can't believe this warm weather we're having…"

"That's global warming for you, huh?" Sam said, running a hand through his hair.

Dean rolled his eyes. "We're seriously talking about the weather now?"

"So, Sarah," Beclyn jumped in, her eye twitching as she forced a smile. "You said there was something that we needed to see?"

Sarah's eyes widened, remembering. "Oh, yeah!" she exclaimed, offering an apologetic shrug. "It's not here though. It's back at work and my office is closed for the day…"

Beclyn raised an eyebrow, obviously not impressed.

"But don't worry," Sarah continued, fishing into her back pocket. She pulled out something silver before flashing a pearl-white grin. "I just happen to have the key. That, and exclusive access."

- - -

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**So I didn't actually tell you what Sarah wants to show them. Whoops. I probably should have put that into this chapter. But, hey, you guys are used to cliff-hangers! **

**Bring on Supernatural season 5!**


	52. Chapter 52

**Welcome to the final chapter of Deadly Betrayal. I did this instead of doing my four assignments. Just letting you know now, my beta practically single-handedly wrote the romantic scenes. She said I wasn't 'sensitive' enough. Freaking porno-junkie she is. I'm going to take away all those vampire sex novels when she's not looking. **

**I watched the first episode of Supernatural season 5 and LOVED IT! –fangirlasms—**

**So, yeah. Hope you enjoy the last chapter. Cheers out to all the people who read this and the reviewers. You guys rock my world! **

**Warning: adult themes, swearing, sex scene**

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**Deadly Betrayal **

**Chapter 52**

"It just came in last week," Sarah explained excitedly as she unlocked the solid, steel door. "I thought there was something really strange about it so I had some historians analyse it." She stood back, letting the hunters through the door.

They stepped into what seemed to be a large warehouse. Despite its size, the room held only one object, covered in a green blanket.

Crossing the room, Sarah continued, "The historians carbon-dated it. They said it was one of the oldest artefacts they've seen…"

"Just what is 'it', exactly?" Sam asked curiously, following after her like an obedient puppy.

"See for yourself," she said with a grin, pulling the blanket off the object.

Dean and Beclyn stared at the object before them. Without trying to seem rude, Dean tilted his head, wondering if he was meant to gaze at it from a certain angle.

"You brought us all the way here to show us a rock?" Beclyn asked coldly, causing Sarah's smile to falter.

A giant, brown, speckled boulder rested on the ground against the wall. Although the size was impressive, Beclyn couldn't see what the big deal was.

"Guys, take a look at this," Sam said, waving Dean and Beclyn over urgently.

They hesitantly approached, expecting something to leap out at them. When nothing did, Beclyn suspected Sam was only acting serious to please Sarah.

"Is it a haunted rock?" Dean inquired simply, continuing to tilt his head the other way.

"Much more interesting." Sam reached out, almost touching the indents on the rough surface. "If you look closely, you'll see that there's inscriptions carved all the way down this side…"

Sarah took a tentative step forward, seeming unsure about standing too close to Beclyn. "I had some archaeologists in to translate it," she told him. "They said it was…"

"Latin, the language of the angels," Sam finished for her, not being able to see the impressed nod from Sarah. He leant closer, his lips moving as he read the inscriptions.

Dean threw a cautious glance to Beclyn. Beclyn shrugged. It was still just a big rock.

"What does it say, geek-boy?" she ordered, crossing her arms.

Sarah turned away, obviously not impressed with the insult. Sam didn't notice.

"Well, some of the lettering has rubbed off and it's a bit difficult to read, but…" He leant closer, his eyes squinting. "_'…Hell shall rise to take control once the…'_" He ran his fingers over the carvings. "'…_Child of the Devil's blood stands forth to start the war…_ _mars the land with the corpses of a thousand demons… No soul, nor life, nor conscience to bear the deaths_…'" He frowned, tapping the last part of the first paragraph. "I don't get this bit. The spelling's off."

"Can you translate it?" Beclyn leant down, gazing at the symbols.

"Yeah, but it doesn't make sense like the other sentences do," Sam pointed out. "It says, '_…and the Devil will fall, forever lay…_'It seems disjointed." Shaking his head, he said, "And I can't translate the second paragraph. It's too curvy for Latin."

His fingers followed the curves and cuts of the lettering. His eyes focussed on the last two symbols. They were completely different to the other scripts. They seemed scrawled, jagged and menacing, as if someone had engraved them in a hurry.

Beclyn's gaze narrowed. "I know what those symbols mean. It's what Jamison sliced into my wrist the night he…" She stopped herself, remembering the gut-wrenching things he did to her – none of which she wanted to mention, especially in front of Dean. She took a deep breath then tried again. "The lunatic said it meant 'the chosen'."

She stood, pretending she didn't feel all eyes in the room focus on her. The temperature of the warehouse felt like it had dropped several degrees. It wasn't a rock they were looking at, it was a message. Or more of a deadly warning.

"Someone could have made this as a prank," Dean pointed out.

Sarah shook her head. "It was found only a few weeks ago a couple of miles under the ocean."

"If it's so authentic then why do you have it?" Beclyn snapped.

"My Dad was in the area and managed to pull a few strings," Sarah quickly answered, crossing her arms defensively. "I only get it for a few more days before it's shipped off to a museum in London."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean suddenly cried out, holding up his hands. "Let me get this straight – this rock is a message from the angels telling us that there's going to be a demon apocalypse. Doesn't that seem a bit far-fetched?"

Sam stood, shrugging. "Someone's trying to tell us something at least, but until we translate the second paragraph we won't fully know what it is."

Scowling, Dean sarcastically muttered, "Yeah, just let me pull out my freaky angel-script translator."

Ignoring his brother's comment, Sam flicked out his cell-phone and took a picture of the foreboding message.

"You know," Sarah said, shuffling her feet, "it's getting kind of late. I'm guessing most the hotels in the area would be booked out by now. It might be a bit cramped from all the renovation work, but my apartment is close to here." She flashed a quick, unsure glance at Sam. "That's only if you're interested…"

Sam blushed, giving a courteous smile. "Nah, don't worry about it. I'm sure we will find some place to…"

"That sounds fantastic, Sarah!" Dean proclaimed, cutting off Sam's sentence. He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and gave in a firm, encouraging squeeze. "I'm sure Sam here is dying to see the view from your apartment." He turned, hiding his face from the girls as he smirked at his glowering brother. "Right, Sammy?"

Sam's eye twitched dangerously. "It's _Sam_," he ground out through his clenched teeth.

"You guys can bunk at mine," Sarah offered, turning to Beclyn, "if that's okay with you."

Beclyn raised an eyebrow and stated, "As long as you keep the sex noises down."

- - -

Despite the renovations, Sarah's apartment was spacious and more than large enough for four people to sleep in. Sam felt his jaw drop as he gazed at the intricate artworks and tasteful furniture. Just the curtains alone would be worth more than all of Dean's poker-game winnings put together.

"Sorry about the mess," Sarah excused, placing her purse on the marble kitchen bench, "the renovation guys decided to take a two-month holiday without notice."

Sam turned, smiling. "Don't worry about it. I think it looks…"

"Whoa, dude! Check out the size of this bedroom!" Dean exclaimed, interrupting Sam.

Beclyn stormed past, shoving Dean out of her path. Dean didn't seem to mind as he followed after her, leaving Sam and Sarah alone. A dense silence fell over them.

"So…" Sarah finally said, turning to smile at Sam.

Sam sheepishly smiled back, hoping that she couldn't see how nervous he was.

"Beclyn's…really something, huh?" she commented, picking at an invisible mark on the bench surface.

"She can be a little rude, but she's really not that bad once you get to know her," he confessed, shrugging. He looked away before muttering, "Well, at least she's not as bad as she used to be."

Sarah gave a soft, polite laugh. Another long pause spaced the conversation.

"Look, I…"

"Sorry that I didn't…"

They both continued to gaze away from each other. Sam took a deep breath and tried again.

"Look, I've been meaning to call and catch up, but the last couple of months have been really full-on." He forced himself to glimpse at her, hoping that she accepted his apology.

Sarah smiled for a moment as if choosing her words carefully. "I was just going to say I'm sorry that I didn't pick up the phone to call you first. I just kept wondering if you had moved on and had gotten another girlfriend."

Sam chuckled. "As I recall it was you who picked up the phone and called me first."

Sarah blushed. "Oh, yeah. Well, in that case…"

Without hesitation she moved closer, pressing her lips to his gently but insistently. Sam's eyes widened in surprise, then slowly drifted shut as he sank into the kiss. He placed one hand on her waist, the other coming up to cradle the back of her neck.

She moaned softly, opening her mouth to his tongue. He took the invitation, making her moan louder as he pulled her closer. Finally, after several long, amazingly sensuous minutes, Sarah pulled away. She seemed dazed, lost for words. Sam caressed her pink cheek, enjoying the heat radiating from her skin. Sarah smiled, her eyes lighting up mischievously.

"What?" Sam asked tentatively, hoping she couldn't see the matching crimson flush staining his cheeks.

Sarah let out a soft sigh, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I was just thinking about how you would love to see some of the artwork in my bedroom."

A slow grin spread across Sam's face. "I think that sounds like a great idea."

- - -

Beclyn and Dean laid their heads on the wooden table, groaning as their stomachs growled for food. It was a constant, painful reminder that they had foolishly skipped lunch.

"So hungry…" Dean moaned, not lifting his head. He cried out as a hand hit his temple.

"That's for not stopping to get us lunch," Beclyn snapped, laying her arm back on the table.

"Hey, I called the pizza place. They should be here with the food by now…"

The sudden chime of a doorbell echoed through the apartment. They waited a few moments.

"Sarah, are you going to get the door?" Dean called, still not lifting his head from the table.

"Not that I care, but where did Sam and Sarah go?" Beclyn asked him.

Dean was halfway through a shrug before his eyes widened. "You think they're getting it on right now?"

Beclyn scowled. "No, you moron. Sam doesn't have the balls to take Sarah to bed, but thanks for the fucking fantastic mental image."

The doorbell rang again, more insistently.

"Oh, for the love of…" Beclyn snarled, climbing out of the chair. Stomping through the hall, she whipped open the front door. The guy was about to ring the doorbell again. He jumped as Beclyn let out a low snarl before grinning stupidly.

"Hey, there," he greeted. "I've got an order of two Meat-O-Manics and a Supreme Scream. It's twenty-two dollars altogether."

As Beclyn reached into her back pocket, his gaze flickered to her chest. His smile transformed to something he obviously thought was charming and flirtatious. She grabbed the pizzas and practically threw the money at him.

As he scrambled to count the notes, he offered in a husky voice, "You know, I get off work in about half an hour… Why don't you and I…"

"Not in your life, buddy," Beclyn snapped sharply, slamming the door in his face. Turning she walked back down the hall, inhaling the delicious, fatty aroma of pizza. She dumped the boxes on the table, flipping the lid on the first cardboard box.

"Finally!" Dean proclaimed, reaching across the table.

They grabbed a piece each and wolfed it down, followed quickly by a second, and a third. It wasn't until they were halfway through the second box that Dean said, "Maybe we should call Sam and Sarah out to have some…"

Beclyn tore a stringy piece of cheese from her pizza, chewing loudly. "Why would we do that?"

Dean threw her a nasty look.

"Fine, fine, I'm going!" Beclyn sighed, standing. She wiped her greasy hands on the sides of her jeans before wandering down to Sarah's room. She wrinkled her nose when she saw the door was closed. Sarah and Sam could barely stand the embarrassment of being in close proximity to each other when people were around; how could they be in a room alone together? Without thinking, she threw the door open.

There were several screams, shrieks and yells before Beclyn grabbed the door and pulled it shut. She stood still as she heard the couple scramble about the bedroom. For a few seconds there was silence and then…

"_Beclyn…_?" Sam hesitantly called through the door.

"Yes, Sam?" Beclyn answered, raising an eyebrow.

"_Did you see us…_?"

"Yes, Sam."

"_Oh. Okay._"

Before he could ask another question, Beclyn turned and made her way back to the kitchen table. Dean was nibbling on the last piece of the second pizza. Without looking up, he asked, "So, are they coming out or what?"

He glanced up when he didn't get a reply. His face fell instantly. "Jeez, Beclyn, what happened to you?"

Beclyn wiped a hand over her eyes. She didn't know if she was incredibly pale or intensely red. It wouldn't have mattered. Only one thing was for sure.

She'd have to try that position on Dean later.

- - -

Dean sighed as he shoved the last of the duffel bags into the Impala. Sam was busy making out with Sarah in the entranceway of the apartment while Beclyn leant against the hood.

"I didn't think he had it in him," Beclyn confessed, watching as Sarah giggled when Sam nipped at her neck. She tilted her head towards Dean, rolling her eyes. "I'm guessing he'll want to come back to New York to say hi every once in a while."

Closing the boot of the car, Dean shrugged. "As long as he's happy. He's the one that promised to keep her filled-in about the angel's message."

Beclyn smirked. "Which means we have one hell of a job trying to find a translator."

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Dean muttered, "I'm sure we can take our time. I want you to do that thing you did to me last night again." He pulled his arm away as Sam walked down the steps, waving enthusiastically to Sarah.

"What – no good-bye sex?" Dean joked, playfully punching his brother in the shoulder.

Sam rolled his eyes, a grin fixed to his lips. "I'd barely call it a good-bye."

"Just letting you know now, freak-boy, we are not coming here every weekend just because you want to hook up," Beclyn warned, her gaze narrowing at him.

"Hey, don't look at me!" Sam laughed. "You were the ones making all the noise last night!"

Dean flashed a toothy grin. "Just couldn't help myself with all the testosterone competition."

"Don't tell me I'm seriously going to have to listen to you guys comparing sex stories for the next five hundred miles," Beclyn said, grimacing.

Dean jumped as his phone went off in his pocket. "Hang on, guys, I've gotta get this," he told them, turning away.

Glowering at Sam, Beclyn snarled, "Next time remember to lock your bedroom door before you decide to get it on."

Sam blushed, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe you should learn to knock," he teased.

Beclyn was about to retaliate, but was cut off when Dean shoved the phone into her face. "What the hell?" she demanded, taking the phone.

"The chick on the other end says she wants to speak to you," Dean told her, gesturing for her to put the phone to her ear.

Raising an eyebrow, Beclyn brought the phone up to ear. "Hello, Beclyn here. Who's this?"

Sam tilted his head, his face morphing into confusion as Beclyn said, "Lamae, huh? Well, I think you've got the wrong number, Lamae…" Beclyn paused, listening to the voice on the other end.

Dean leant closer to the conversation, his face a mixture of curiosity and puzzlement. Beclyn put a hand to his face and pushed him back. She was taking the phone call seriously.

"So where did you say you were?" Beclyn asked into the phone. There was a moment before she said, "Yeah, alright. I'll meet you there." She hung up the phone and stared at it for a few moments.

"Well, that was weird," Sam muttered, taking the phone and checking the received calls folder. It was a private number. "Who was that you were talking to?"

Beclyn shrugged. "Just a girl. She said she needed my help."

Dean crossed his arms, his brow knotting. "What for?"

"No idea," Beclyn said, walking towards the car. "But I do have a question."

"And what would that be?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow as he followed her.

She stopped and turned around to face him.

"Where's Smallville?"

- - -

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**May do a bit of extra fangirl service or a bit of a juicy extra. Adults only next chapter –wink, wink--. **

**Keep a look out for the next story - Deadly Secret!**


	53. Extra

**Here we go. This is the last chapter of Deadly Betrayal. I already have Deadly Secret up in the Supernatural/Smallville crossover section. Sorry this took so long to get up. My beta's brain died horrifically after exams. Either that or she was savouring the sex scene. Both seem very likely. Kiddies, this chapter is not for you. **

**Warning: this chapter is rated MA (I didn't even know there was such thing as MA) for sex scenes, nudity, swearing and adult themes. Please miss the part labelled X-X-X**

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**Deadly Betrayal**

_Eight Years Ago, The Cave_

The Cave was a massive fortress, carved from the black rock beneath the thriving metropolis of New York. Usually buzzing with demonic activity, that night it was all but deserted. Most of the experienced demons residing in the Cave had left for the twilight hours, enjoying the cool, breezy weather outside the formidable walls.

The silver-eyed demon was not one of them. Despite the power and authority he wielded as ruler of all demon-kind, and paranormal creatures in general, there was one thing even he could not avoid: paperwork. The never-ending task of scribbling signatures and reading reports always left him in a frightful mood. It seemed the only thing that could chain down the most lethal and blood-thirsty demon was the dreaded pile of ink and paper.

He didn't look up as he heard the doors to his office open. Perhaps there was one other thing that could chain him down –a deadly killer like himself.

"Is there a problem, Beclyn?" he asked coldly, not daring to look into those wondrously dark blue eyes. Even at the tender young age of seventeen, Beclyn had everything the silver-eyed demon had ever hoped for – looks, instincts and the overpowering urge to slaughter.

Despite his lust for the luscious brunette, he knew his role as adopted guardian came first. She turned eighteen in a matter of months, after which he could finally make her his mate, his breeding partner, and the most destructive weapon the world would have ever seen. Until then, however, he had to remain professional and distant.

**X-X-X**

But those skin-tight leather pants and that sheer excuse for a shirt…oh, he would have broken every demon law protecting humans and minors in a heartbeat. All he knew was that he wanted her.

She glided into the room, stopping a few inches from the desk. Her cold, emotionless eyes narrowed at him, almost daring him to look at her and savour what he wanted.

"Unless you are here to discuss a matter that you think needs to be brought to my attention, then I suggest… " the silver-eyed demon started.

She leaned forward and kissed him softly. She couldn't have startled him more if she had smashed him over the head with a brick. Actually, that would have been less shocking, knowing her personality. The kiss lingered on, the silver-eyed demon staring as Beclyn's eyes drifted shut. He was confused, but aroused. Beclyn, the most twisted, corrupt human he knew, was trying to be romantic.

Beclyn opened her eyes. The kiss was dragging on, and she seemed angry that nothing was happening. Scowling, she started to pull back, but he grabbed her arms, his face twisted in a snarl.

No way was he going to let her pull away and walk out of that room – not when she had _finally_ given him what he wanted, what he had been yearning for constantly for the past year and a half.

He whipped his hand behind her head and shoved his lips hard against hers. A delicious, exotic hunger overtook his body, making him want more than just kisses. Standing, he pushed her backwards until they hit the wall, their lips not once breaking contact. The moment he let go of her arms she raked her fingernails down his back. He groaned for a moment, giving her enough time to move her lips to his neck, where she bit just hard enough to make him gasp, wanting more.

He wanted her in his bed, to be with her, to be _inside_ her, now. He didn't care if he was breaking demon law. He didn't care if others knew that he was the biggest hypocrite of all, as long he could have her right then and there. For the first time in his life he wanted to be ridden, to be taken control of, to be used at someone else's pleasure.

Moving a fingernail to her shirt, he tore the fabric, revealing her perfectly rounded breasts as her hands ripped his shirt from his body. Her fingers caressed his muscles, tracing the lines of his toned stomach. Not wasting a moment, he removed her pants, yearning to touch a part of her that no-one else had touched. Her hands moved over his pants, lingering on just the right areas to harden him further – if that was possible.

He tugged her towards the bed. She was the first to hit the sheets. He didn't waste any time pinning her arms as he climbed on top of her. Her eyes abruptly glazed with fury as she noticed their situation. He barely had time to think before her leg wrapped around his torso, and he was flipped onto his back, pinned against the sheets. He let out an angry snarl, but was quietened as her lips moved back to his.

He wanted her so badly. He wanted her to remove his pants and take him for all he was worth. If this was another one of her Goddamn sadistic tricks, then he was going to tear apart every single demon until he reached her room, where he would take her whether she liked it or not. Just the thought of her suddenly pulling away was enough to let his animalistic, possessive urges take over. Just the slightest bit of fabric was the only thing holding them back from taking each other. Her hand moved to his crotch, eliciting a moan from him as she released him from the fabric. She shifted, preparing to sheath him. He wanted her to want it as much as he did. She was so close to his member that he could almost feel the warmth and wetness radiating from inside her. Suddenly…

**X-X-X**

"FUCK!" he roared as freezing water sloshed over him. Several chunks of ice smacked against his face. He looked up, ready to destroy the person who had interrupted his dream. His jaw fell when he saw his brother standing a few metres away from the bed.

"Mornin'," the yellow-eyed demon said cheerfully.

Clenching his teeth, the silver-eyed demon tossed the soiled blankets aside and snarled, "I could have you _executed_ for trespassing..."

"Yeah, yeah," his brother said with a sigh. His eyes suddenly widened, amused. "Having a good dream?"

The silver-eyed demon raised an eyebrow, following his brother's line of gaze. He swore suddenly and yanked the blankets over the erect penis pushing against his pants.

"You know, that's quite an achievement," the yellow-eyed demon commented with a grin. "Usually a bucket of icy water would soften any man's libido, or at least his dick." His eyes twinkled with mischief. "I guess this means you were having a nice dream, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out who it was about."

The silver-eyed demon stood, quickly making his way to the large wardrobe on the other side of the room. He tore off his damp shirt and replaced it with a fresh, clean one. He could change his pants when his brother left. Which reminded him...

"Why are you here?" the silver-eyed demon demanded with a snarl as he pulled a black robe from one of the coat hangers. He figured it would cover himself enough until his brother left.

His brother's amused expression changed to confusion. "What? You mean you didn't hear her?"

"Hear who?" he snapped, straightening the robe.

The yellow-eyed demon rolled his eyes. "I'll give you one guess," he said sarcastically, "and I'm warning you, she's angry."

At that moment footsteps sounded outside in the hallway before the room's double doors slammed open. The impact shook the room.

The yellow-eyed demon gave a shaky smile. "Morning, Beclyn," he greeted nervously.

She didn't look at him. Her dark, unforgiving eyes were aimed directly at the silver-eyed demon.

"Is there a problem?" the silver-eyed demon asked in a bored tone, hoping it sounded believable. He shifted the robe slightly, concealing more of his lower half.

Something cruel and menacing glinted in Beclyn's eyes. Not one word escaped her mouth as she stood, indifferent in the company of the two most powerful demons ever known.

"I think what Beclyn is trying to say is that she has a problem with not being allowed out of the Cave," the yellow-eyed demon suggested before muttering, "Not that it stopped her from leaving last night..."

"You left, even though I have forbidden you to ever leave the fortress?" the silver-eyed demon demanded, a cold sweat dampening his palms. The idea of her being away from his watchful eye was enough to make him roar in fury. There were hunters outside the cave, creatures that were willing to tear her to pieces just to get back at him. What if they got to her? What if she was ripped away from him and he could never find her again?

Beclyn's face remained emotionless, but her eyes radiated anger far deeper than his could be. "_I don't answer to your orders_," she seethed through clenched teeth.

The yellow-eyed demon let out an exasperated sigh. "These precautions are put in place so that things like last night don't happen..."

"What happened?" the silver-eyed demon yelled, his fury building. He couldn't win this fight unless he had more anger than her.

"Beclyn was confronted by a hunter," his brother stated.

There was a moment's silence before the words hit the silver-eyed demon head-on. The world tilted. Dizziness clouded his vision. He turned away, hands trembling at his sides.

"Find the identity of the hunter, and then kill him," he spat, clenching his fists at his sides. "Then find the hunter's family, friends, _everything_ – and then kill them _all_."

His brother let out a long, dramatic sigh. "We would, but Beclyn handled the hunter herself. We're still scraping him off the side-walk."

Before either of the demons could continue, Beclyn glided forward until she was only an inch from the silver-eyed demon. Her glare sent a shiver up his spine. "_I don't follow your orders,_" she repeated in a harsh whisper so that only he could hear. Her gaze flickered to his robe-covered pants. A scowl hardened her lips. "_Disgusting_," she murmured.

The silver-eyed demon's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he caught a blue glint deep in her eyes. _Impossible_… Sparkling or coloured eyes were a sign of the highest demonic power, which was only ever attainable for a human if they had gorged on demon blood.

Without another word, she swivelled and stormed from the room, slamming the doors behind her.

A long, tense silence hung between the two demon brothers. If Beclyn had killed a hunter, then it would only be a matter of time before she was the primary target on the humans' list. That was too painful for the silver-eyed demon to bear. They needed to get Beclyn underground, and fast.

"Double Beclyn's medication. She needs to forget she killed a hunter," the silver-eyed demon instructed sternly.

The yellow-eyed demon gaped. "Are you kidding? She's already on the absolute maximum of these amnesia meds. You want her to forget her time living as a human, not her entire being."

"Increase the dosage," the silver-eyed demon ordered, lips twisted in a ferocious snarl.

Beclyn needed to forget the hunter. Making her lose all of her memories was a risk the silver-eyed demon was willing to take.

**To be continued in Deadly Secret...**

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**Please read Deadly Secret! I will bribe you with naked scenes of Jason and the brothers. I should do a towel scene –is scheming--. Just check out my profile to get to the story. Thank you for sticking with this story for so long! My reviewers are the most brilliant, ultimate shining lights of glory. Thank you so much! –bows gratefully-- **


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